A Hidden Haven
by hawthorneash13
Summary: The countries have gone through so much in their long lives, Prussia and Italy (no pairings) have been captured. Anyhow, their captors were that of a scientific endeavor, and had no regard of human rights. Now, they've been there for a year, and they are... mutated, to say the least. Now throw Canada into the mix. He loses the most in this tale. When will see freedom? Unknown..
1. Chapter 1

**Hello fellow fanfiction goers and writers! I have produced yet another story. This one had been cooking for a long time, and I rewrote it three times. I know some stuff wont be resolved, or make sense, but either I will attend to that later or I just don't want it to clog the story.**

The heavy chains gorged deep trenches into the already gouged out earth. They were tight around his torso, pulling away his breath, but he couldn't stop. The scientists watched from their perches, studying the vitals on the monitors and the Italian as he made his way across the three mile long inclined trek. With no breaks, no water, three miles uphill... both ways.

Italy glanced over at the albino who was currently surpassing him. He smirked quietly to himself, gazing shrewdly at the affect of the scientist's first experiment on the man. He looked down at himself. Same height, same skin color, but his hair, though it still has its crazy body was a jet black now. The scientists were ecstatic when they found Italy could change his hair and eye color to his will. Oh, there were many other things he could do, but we'll get to that later.

Ever since they found out who Italy and Prussia were, they had relentlessly poked and prodded them, trying to find out what they were and how they could possibly exist. What sparked their interest the most was the fact they couldn't die, and that Italy's countries health and style affected him. They were very curious as to why Prussia was even around, since their small understanding of the personifications made them think, logically, that he shouldn't be.

A loud bang echoed their dulled eyes, waking them from their painful trance. Prussia's face was dirty and crusted with dry blood, a result of when he tried to get out of the cage, but ended up hitting his head on the metal walls. He stopped, listening. They had injected him all this stuff, allowing him to get new… powers? Suddenly, Prussia yelped as a surge of electricity coursed up his spine, immediately forcing him forward.

Italy had gotten stronger in the last few months, mentally, & physically. Because of the experiments he was put through, he got toughened up. He no longer whimpered or screeched when met with pain; it had become part of him. Fear was still strong; but he learned to live with it. He would stare at the scientists with unbridled hatred and disgust, a glare that would shrink Germany. He wasn't the happy, pasta loving Feli that was known to the rest of the world, no, he was much darker. After a moment, he turned to Prussia, his face even meaner than his. Prussia was angrier than the Italian, angry and blood thirsty. Italy just wanted to get away.

"35611." Prussia called him by his prisoner number.

"36501." Was Italy's reply. Prussia glanced angrily at the detainer behind them, coming quickly with his cattle prod. They turned to face him, light smirks on their lips. Prussia flexed his clipped black wings, sending buffeting winds at the man. Undeterred, he swung at Prussia, Italy ducking under his approaching arm. Before the prod could connect with the Prussian, Italy grabbed the detainers hairy thick arm, his stoic hazel eyes sparking with scarlet excitement. Italy's hair flashed to a navy blue, blinking like a warning. The detainer knew this warning, and shrunk with fear. It was too late. Italy's grip was like that of iron manacles, unyielding. The energy buzzed in his arm, quickly traveling down his arm into the man's. Spazing, the man fell, cattle prod still sending currents of electricity to the pronged tip. Italy released his arm, flexing his hands. Prussia clapped him on the back as the detainer fell still,

"You're getting better at that." Prussia whispered in his ear.

"Third one this week, I doubt they care though." Italy rustled his chains, coursing his self generated electricity down the metal, charring the earth.

"Help me with these damn things, I must stretch my wings." Prussia demanded. You'd expect security to come bustling to the man's aid, locking up the two countries. But no, these people don't even care about their own, just their experiments. Shuffling forward, Italy picked up the heavy chains trailing Prussia, readjusting them to suit his wings. When he had fist fledged, the wings were large and beautiful, glossy and ink colored. Then they cut them, cut back on food. Now they were dull, small, a dusty black. It was pitiful really. Flapping the wings as they shuffled forward was common for the man to do. Eventually they made their way to the next part of their daily 'exercise'.

After chugging down a gallon of water, they moved into a dark tunnel. Electricity pulsed and throbbed on the sides of the metal walls, Prussia tucking in his wings tightly and Italy rolling his eyes. If he could produce electricity, he wasn't going to be affected by it. Prussia ran through the course, darting here and there to avoid any reaching tendrils of painful light. He would move on to the next course without Italy. They had stopped clipping his wings and were allowing him to strength them, which basically was him just putting his hands of the back of a chair and beating the wings.

Staring with yellow eyes and red hair, Italy evaluated the situation. The severity of his life now had forced him to think more, act until he knew what he was going to do. He was determined to show these scientists that he wasn't some blob to be wiped from the planet. He dashed threw the 50 foot course, knowing the quicker he could get this done the better. Breathing heavily, cold water splashed down on him, cooling him. _How thoughtful…_ he thought viciously. Now his personal fighter would come and 'teach' him. Just as was predicted, a man with dark brown hair stepped out, an already triumphed grin on his wide face. Feliciano took his fighting stance, yellow eyes blazing with anger. The man lunged, Italy blocked, an instinct saying somewhere deep, _Run! Hide! _This only angered him more, making the Italian strike outwards with a tightly curled fist. It connected with the man's stomach.

A foot collided with Italy's knee, sending a quick gasp of pain out before a shock coursed through him. He fell down, twitching as he was kicked over and over and over again. Blackness danced into his vision. That fiery determination melted as the instinct to beg to run and hide started to take over. _NO! _He shot up, taking the man's foot as it plunged downward, twisting and snapping the joint. The man seethed with pain, surprise and anger. Stumbling, he tried to attack Italy, who was now standing and brushing off his sleeves. Since the strength of his country coursed through him, his energy level was much more enduring and strong, especially with the Italian mob running amuck. He grinned maliciously, this Italian.

Prussia walked into the room, his wings already loosening at the promise of exercise. It was empty, save for a metal pole curved like a giant lowercase 'n'. Placing his hands, which had tan colored scales like the feet of a eagle, on the smooth cold pole, arching his back in a stretch as the wings expanded to a full 16 feet wingtip to wingtip. They were slender and slight, built for speed and agility. He started to pump his wings, the muscles bulging and rolling as he moved them. It had taken a _long_ time to figure out how to move them, and then get used to the weight of them. They don't look it, but they are _heavy_. After about an hour of continuous (aka, flapping his wings non-stop for an hour) exercise, sweat beading his brow, he went over to the balance bean they laid out for him. At first he thought it was girly, but apparently he had developed an extremely advanced sense of balance. It was probably only 13 cm thick, but he moved across it with ease. After doing that for a while, he was called to lunch.

They have slowly started to change his diet to that of a raptor, aka raw meat, not that he minded. It was food; he was hungry; so he ate it. Italy was sitting in his usually seat, right in front of a stool where Prussia would sit in a crouch. Sitting on his butt wasn't comfortable anymore, nor was lying down. They let them interact as to keep them socially tuned and not too soft to the interaction with the workers. (so they wouldn't freak out every single time they saw someone, due to not being social) Prussia grabbed the plate of red meat and crouched in the chair, staring at the flickering hair and eyes of Italy. He was irritated; he did that when he was. When Prussia was irritated the feathers on his wings would get all ruffled and poofy. Italy was digging into a sandwich, to which Prussia said in a snarky voice,

"Well, they treat us like crap, experiment on us, but the food is _awesome._ Like me, THE AWESOME PRUSSIA!_"_ Prussia yelled. Italy rolled his currently purple eyes, shushing him,

"It's good to hear you still think you're awesome." Prussia looked at him in distress, brows furrowed,

"BUT I AM AWESOME!"

"Yes, yes I know. And I used to say 'make pasta not war' but apparently that innocence and immaturity I somehow managed to keep was lost in this place. Strange how the direct assault on us has a greater affect on our personality than our country. The Italian mob is going hay-"Italy stopped, looking away for a moment, then sighed heavily, "-wire. Probably because of me." Prussia looked at him sadly, knowing what he should was true. Italy was so terrified when they first got here, heck, Prussia was afraid to, though he would never admit it. He rustled his wings, trying to banish the memories.

"Yes, I suppose. Being a country is a nasty business, especially with mobs."

"Hmm. What they'd give you today?" Italy inquired, peeking at the meat. Prussia poked it uncertainly, biting into it.

"No sniffing to check?" Italy chuckled. Prussia shook his head as he chewed,

"Since this bird thing came into me I've almost completely lost my sense of smell and taste. I think its cow again… Hell, it could be rotten and I'd still be able to eat it. I think the bird DNA is a mix of eagle and vulture."

"I suppose it makes sense." They continued this light chatter, knowing they were being recorded.

A sudden slamming interrupted their conversation. Prussia stared with large alert eyes while Italy looked on dully. Being mixed bird DNA would make you very high strung, depending on the bird. Prussia tucked in his wings unconsciously, tight and unseen. Italy turned his hair and eyes back into their _natural_ color, before the syringes sunk themselves into him. A scientist barged in,

"36511, 36501! Over there, now!" Ordered the scientist, who was a woman with light blonde hair and vicious blue steel eyes, pointing to the corner. Begrudgingly, they obeyed. Two more men came in, the detainers holding someone between them. Prussia looked on, sitting on his haunches, staring in intense interest. Italy perked up also, curious as to whom it was. Their head was forced down; a red sweat shirt on him, for it was a male, his hair was wavy and blonde, reminding them of America, France, heck it just could be a random person. They threw him down, the detainers leaving them with the woman scientist. The man was panting and mumbling, his head still bent. The woman walked to him, grabbing his hair and forcing his head up. The countries gasped in surprise.

Canada.

**First chapter! Whatcha think? Italy has gotten really… yeah. In later chapters Prussia gets really mellow, which I'm trying to fix. Italy and Prussia sorta-kinda switched personalities, but no one is freakishly cheery. They will be VERY OOC, and for that I apologize. I havent written Italy before, and only wrote a insane Prussia. ****_He's back_****, but i felt it wasnt going anywhere, so i deleted it. Also, if any of you follow THE BRITISH ISLE AGREEMENT, i will update soon. I was having a bit of writers block with that.**


	2. Chapter 2

Prussia's wings flared out in surprise, flapping angrily as he hopped back and forth, careful of the shock stick in the woman's hand. Italy's hair coursed through the color spectrum, resting on a deep red and his eyes black with anger and shock. Canada was injured, face swollen. Though in the meeting, Italy had forgotten about him, the time here had given him a long time to reflect.

Canada looked on alarm, seeing the countries like this… especially Prussia, bobbing and twitching like the manner of birds. He always seemed so… unmovable. Plus the fact he had _wings, _and Italy… he looked _pissed._ He stared at the woman, used some awfully colorful language, joined by Italy. If the hair and eye color hadn't throne Canada off so much he would have thought it was Romano. The woman waved the stick, causing Prussia to shrink back. This confused Canada, why would some stick scare _Prussia_? Italy boldly walked up and took the stick by the tip, purple jolts of electricity circling over his fist. Canada widened his one good eye, it was a cow prod, and it seemed not to have any effect on the Italian. They glared at each other, Prussia standing and walking over, despite his seeming jumpiness.

"What is the purpose of this?" He asked. The woman glared at him, wrenching the prod out of Italy's had and whacking him with it. He convulsed a little as he stood, leaning against the wall, flexing his hands in agitation.

"You do not speak to me you soulless _thing_." She spits. Prussia cracked a small grin,

"Oh, you're right about the 'soulless' part, but the 'thing' part is your fault." He said crookedly, still flexing his hands. Peering at them, Canada could see something moving under the skin right behind his nail bed.

"I brought you one of your heathen pack." She sneered, throwing Canada. He crawled forward, into the familiar presence of Prussia and Italy. The woman watched as they patted him on the pack, speaking in another language. This angered the woman,

"Stop! Who is this one?" She poked. Prussia glared at her, his wings protectively encircling the man.

"Prussia? Italy? What happened to you?" Canada whispered. Prussia spoke into his ear, still glaring at her

"They did."

"WELL?! Answer me!"

"Canada. He's Canada." Italy told, taking the final bite of his sandwich. With that the woman left. Canada turned to them, confusion plain. His eyes were drawn to Prussia's wings, and then to Italy's hair and eyes.

"What happened to you?" He asked again, his voice shaking. Italy sunk into his chair, waving his hand lazily,

"This injection, that surgery. You'll know." He chuckled darkly, earning a glare from Prussia. Canada's mouth opened slightly, no sure what to make of Italy. Prussia pointed at his head and made slow circles around the temple,

"He's kinda insane." Was Prussia's explanation, going to sit back on his stool. Canada was shaking, but he stood, looking around. His violet eyes were deep and probing,

"And what of you?" He asked, seriousness in every grain of his voice. Italy and Prussia shared a look, the Italian shrugging and his hair turning bright yellow.

"Would you stop that? It's creeping me out." Canada whined to Italy. Prussia sighed with relief; he did not want to answer that question. Italy looked at him, shaking his head slowly.

"I'd kill for a smoke." He said, arching his back over the back of the chair. Prussia rolled his eyes,

"You say that every day."

"Well its true, so bite me."

"You would be lucky to bite me." Prussia quipped.

"You guys know how long you've been gone?!" Canada yelled in distress, tugging his hair.  
"300 million years." Italy said sarcastically. Canada stared at him disbelieving.

"_No_. You've been gone for almost a year! Do you even know where you are?!" Canada seemed to screech, which came out as a regular level of loudness,

"Nope." The countries answered in unison. Canada pinched the bridge of his mostly broken nose, grimacing afterword.

"You're on some island in the middle of nowhere. That's why the countries haven't been able to sense you; there are no countries here. Not of the island, anyway."

"And we care, why, exactly?" Italy snorted, reclining. Canada looked at them in disbelief. A moment ago they were worrying over him and now that they were alone they seemed not to care at all. Suddenly Prussia grimaced; pulling his loosely spread wings to his back. Italy looked on in mild interest, knowing what was happening. Canada backed away when his gripping fingers let loose a spray of blood at the finger tips, and a set of long, curved black claws erupted from the nail bed. After they were out a measure of relief showed on Prussia's now emotionless face. His hand red and throbbing, he flexed the members, watching the blood dry in seconds and evaporates and the wound heal. Italy nodded, scratching his head.

"That was bound to happen." He observed. Prussia glared at him, growling. A literal growl, a deep rumble from the back of his throat; his eyes seemed to darken in their scarlet glory, irritation clear. Canada cringed, shaken. A loud ring filled the room, lasting a breath. In unison, the mutated countries rose, walking toward a wall that seemed to lean back and slid behind itself. It emptied out into a room, to which they both walked. Canada timidly followed, unsure.

"Come on, Matthew, we need to hurry." Italy sung over his shoulder, his hair going white and his eyes yellow. Shivering, Canada sped up, knowing he should have brought Cuba with him in case something like this happened. _They must have cracked… I expected this from Prussia, honestly. Well no, I didn't. He seemed more likely though. But he seems more stable than Feliciano. _Canada thought. He saw the body language change as they walked, the temperature dropping rapidly. They were afraid, and he didn't know why.

He soon found out.

**Chapter two! Trust me, I wont update this often. Final's are coming up, so yes. I have typed most of this up anyway, so its not a problem. I will put up chapter three tomorrow if I can; than things will slow down. Reason why I will be putting up these chapters so quickly is cuz when I read something I like I hate it when its only one chapter. SO yeah. REVIEW! **

**PS: Their attitude will change, and i guess they don't make sense right now, but Italy is a tad insane and Prussia... yikes, i don't even want to know.**


	3. Chapter 3

They entered a room that was pitch black. As soon as the light from the doorway closed, due to a closing door, Italy's hair and eyes glowed fluorescently, like a white beacon. A yelp and that hair whipped away in a blur, abruptly going out with a splash. Prussia sucked in a breath; Canada heard the rustling of his feathers as his wings expanded. Matthew reached out and felt the soft down of Gilberts wings, his hand accidently caressing the meeting point of the wing and the skin. It was jagged, twisted flesh, but only a small ring of it, around the wing. He felt the smooth skin only a centimeter away from the abnormity. He felt Gilbert tense, a muscle spasm running up his back. He drew his hand away, knowing Gilbert was looking at him. Despite the darkness, he feared he could see the embarrassing blush on his face. Gilbert placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him a tad closer just so he could be sure he was there. Leaning down, he whispered in his ear,

"Don't move, don't scream, and don't fight. It won't work; you'll only excite them more." And then Canada felt the absence of the familiar Prussia. A little breeze lifted his hair, and he knew he was alone. He listened, and listened hard. But he heard nothing. Nothing from his friends, nothing of these implied creatures. He almost wished that something would make a noise so he would know where he stood with the situation more and react to it.

And then he felt it. Some long, sharp digits wrapped around him, the tips meeting at his sternum. It squeezed, taking all the air away from him. He grunted as he was pulled back into what felt like a strange, cocoon cage. It wrapped around him, and all he could do was pant and let loose loud panicked yelps. A rumble vibrated, and Canada realized with horror it was a chuckle. He struggled, his mind going into survival mode. He clawed at the cage, pieces of a soft substance coming off and sticking under his nail bed until he was scratching at something smooth and hard. The cage compressed like a boa constrictor, slowly drawing out breath; Matthew struggle, seeing white spots in his vision. A breeze drifted down from the top of the cage, playing with his long hair. He knew he wouldn't die like this; being a country never let your physical body die. It was almost a curse. His arms were pinned so tightly to his chest he couldn't move them if he had all the force of a hockey team. Canada was often mistaken for being weak; he was anything but. His economy overall is good, he had many people to populate his large land mass, and he had a diverse culture of French and French-Canadian (and the immigrants). Do you think America would be as strong as he is if he didn't have all of his naturalized citizens? He is strong because of other nations people immigrating over with their culture and their service.

As a rule, Matthew disliked suffocation, a lot. It was extremely unpleasant, long, and painful, to say the least. He always woke up with a killer migraine that would result in a hour long coma due to a lack of oxygen on the brain. His breathing slowed, and nearly stopped before the cage opened and he fell out onto the ground. His breath was so far gone it was a moment before he sucked in a deep, lung stretching breath, and then promptly coughed. A clatter of claws alerted him to a presence walking close to him, and he felt those fingers on him again, on his face. It drew blood, a long line from above his eyebrow on to his cheek below. He grimaced as it burned and the blood leaked down his face. The monster did it again, next to the other line, almost tenderly. Canada hissed, knocking the talon away and rushing to his feet, staggering because he was still affected by the oxygen loss. The creature chuckled again, louder, but no noise coming forth. He felt the vibration through the ground, and heard the claws scrapping across the earth as it walked forward towards him. He back up, eyes wide and useless.

"Prussia?! Italy?!" he whispered, making a briefly disgusted face at how quiet he always was. When they captured (tranquilized) him, and brought him inside the facility, they had injected him with something. His vision had been hazy, but it looked green as they pumped him full of it. He was infuriated; how easily they captured him, how stupid he was for not bringing back up; for how Gilbert and Feli reacted; for what the scientists (hardly worthy of the title, more like torturers) did to them, that he wasn't able to protect them. Germany was taking this very hard, as was Romano (but only for Italy's return; he didn't give a_ flying fart in space _about Prussia), and he had promised to himself that he would get them back. His anger rolled off in waves, and the creature seemed to stop in curiosity. This also enraged him.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" He screamed, louder than any creature could possibly have a right to be. A pounding rage pulsed inside his temples, his vision wavered to a reddish tint, and he heard the thrumming of blood in his ears. The monster screeched, skittering away frantically. The rest, about two more, followed with a muffled pounding as they tried to get into their little cave. He panted, rubbing his sore throat as one by one, the lights above flickered on. The room they were in was huge; longer that three football fields. The wrath abated as quickly as it came, leaving a feeling of tiredness. To his left, was a confused Prussia tangled in a net of chains, his wings being twisted painfully and his arms and legs completely useless. Behind him, Italy dragged himself out of a pool that looked bottomless, breathing heavily and wiping away the blood streaming down his face. It caused a strange an effect on his stark white hair. Canada strode over to Prussia, carefully maneuvering the chains so he could get out. Here and there, he coughed violently, spewing blood onto his hand, which he promptly wiped off on his pants. Canada's wounds from the beating the detainers gave him were already healed.

"Matthew…?" Gilbert questioned. Canada shook his head, going over to Italy, who also coughed and was presently just lying on his back, staring at the high ceiling. The ceiling was about as high as two eighteen wheelers stacked end to end onto of each other, and there was a maze of dusty rafters crisscrossing the ceiling.

"They've never turned the lights on before." Feliciano remarked. Matthew shivered inwardly, remembering the fury he felt. What was that? He had never thought of himself as an angry person, well, he had been angry before, but not _that_ angry. (That's an obvious lie and we all know it) He sat tiredly next to Italy, honestly not caring that his pants were getting wet. His mind felt like it was being stuffed with cotton; it was like pain, throbbing, but it didn't hurt. Very peculiar indeed. Prussia stood alert, no matter how much he craved to rest; he didn't trust this strange respite from the anguish. A sharp pain made Prussia slap a hand to his neck, coming in contact with the red feathered end of a dart. Before he could even curse about it, his eyes rolled up into his skull and he collapsed to the ground, thankfully with folded wings. Rushing upward to try to aid their fallen friend, two similar darts sunk into their necks. Light violet eyes, belonging to both countries, rolled up into their head.

_Italy looked around in the world he was in. It was the grimy world of the laboratory, when they first implanted the glands into his brain. His arms were pinned to the table, and he was facedown, staring at a brown stain on the tile. This place had horrible facilities. He tasted the fear like vile on his tongue, but the horrible tasting tube going down his throat distracted him from this. His eyes were slowly dropping, and try as he might he could not keep them open long. The thickness in his blood, the dullness of his thought, the feeling of fear, of that fear. He was so afraid. His nerves felt like they were bottomless, like when he was falling through the air, but it was so much longer. He wasn't even completely out yet before he felt the sting of a blade on the back of his head._

_He didn't know true terror until he heard the whirring of a saw._

_Felt the vibration as it neared his head._

**I updated! Good? I hope so… oh, btw, YOU HAVE NO OPTION BUT TO FOLLOW, AND REVIEW! Good? I thought so… I would also like to thank all of those who are all ready following, and reviewing! Please check out my other stories.**

**Become one with Mother Russia! **


	4. Chapter 4

With a gasp, Italy opened his eyes, sweat rolling down his neck. He was in his cell, Prussia's warm body next to him. They had to share a bed, but what surprised him was that he was in the bed. In his revelation, he reverted as little to his old self, snuggling up to the Prussian like he would snuggle to Germany. A pang of distress traveled up his spine, and all he wanted to do was weep and hug Germany, Romano, Spain, pasta, wine… he shook himself, moving away from Gilbert, scolding himself. _Shut up you pathetic creature! You've been through a lot, but that doesn't give you the excuse to be weak, especially when you have to stay alive! Summon your firkin' insanity or whatever to get through this! Make yourself think you are gonna be saved if that makes you feel better! Weakness is not tolerated! _The words Rome had chanted to him as a child came to mind. Weakness will not be tolerated was often one; people think Rome was inspiring, kind, funny. No, Italy knew better. He was… abusive, horribly cruel. He taught Italy to fight, to defend himself, but at the cost kindness. But when he dissolved, Italy forgot, left the bad memories behind in hope of a new life with Austria and Hungary, and then Germany. His heart ached, from the memories created here, to the absence of his fratello and Germany. He had become great companions with Prussia over the last however many months we have been here, just because they had someone to share the experience with. He was unsure of how to react to Canada. What had they done to him? Where was he? He looked around for the Canadian, seeing him nowhere. Rising from the sheets, he felt a groaning. Prying his hand away, he sat down again.

"What do you want?" He drawled, not unkindly. Pushing himself up with his arms, though his legs were still on the bed, he arched his back and stretched his wings, the tips scraping the relatively low ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the Italian. As he went to pull his hand out of the sheets, he noticed a ripping sound. With a tug, he tore his hand free. Feliciano marveled at the long, black, curved claws. Not to mention to the extremely sharp points. With a grunt, they retracted into his nail bed. He sat up, sitting on his butt.

Gilbert's spine ached, his hands were sore, his muscles weak. He just wanted to rest, but he stood, rubbing the heel of his hands to his eyes. Feliciano was calm at the moment, so his hair and eyes were his natural color. He leaned against the wall, the tranquilizer still affecting him heavily. His vision wavered a little here and there, but otherwise he could see fine.

"Where's Canada?" He questioned, a talon sliding out as he pressed his fingers against the wall. He watched in dreary fascination as it slid back in. Italy noticed this,

"I don't know. Perhaps they took him for whatever they're planning to do." A slight shiver ran down the countries back at the thought. They both know the people behind their cell door like having fun with anatomy.

_Time skip!_

They stayed in their cell for three weeks before an angry banging shook the solid metal cell door. There had been no sign of Canada. Prussia had just gotten done munching on a particularly chewy piece of meat and Italy was shaken awake from his nap. Mumbled yells sounded outside. Adrenaline levels rose as the unexpected but inevitable event rose to greet them. The door opened, and in spilled a man.

He gripped the frame of the bed, to keep himself upright, and when he looked up, Canadian eyes greeted them. It took Feli and Gilbert to register the fact Canada only had one arm.

He glared at them, that unholy rage building. Alas, it was built on a twig and the tremendous rage collapsed into pure pity. He had started to blame them for not preventing this; but they couldn't have done anything about it. Matthew fell onto the bed, exhausted from the last three weeks. His arm had been cut all the way to the shoulder, so all that remained of his right arm was a swollen stump. He glared weakly at the floor, trying to the hide tears. He felt relieved to finally be in the company of others not begging to hurt him. Prussia sat next to him, Italy on the other. He pressed his hand to his eyes, the tears pudding there. Prussia laid a currently clawless hand on his left shoulder; his red eyes darkening in sadness, Matt leaned into it, craving comfort. Awkwardly, Prussia was no supporting the weeping Canadian in his arms in a strange hug.

Matthew could feel Feliciano's intense gaze on his stub.

No words were said, just glances and groans. Matthew cried for the rest of the night, so when he had finally fell asleep, still on Gilbert's shoulder, he lay down on the grimy bed to sleep. He returned his gaze to Italy, who was clenching his fist, little bursts of energy shiny patches on his skin. Gilbert rose, unsheathing his talons and racking them on the wall, sending sparks flying. He glared at Feli,

Through clenched teeth, "We have to get out of here." He seethed.

"Damn strait." Italy replied. They then launched into a language, a language only known and used by the nations. Sure they could have spoken in German or Italian, but those are translatable. This language, called the 'iron speak' or 'metal tongue' was birthed in the minds of the countries as soon as they stepped out of the cosmic womb. Iron speak was rightly called so, because it sounded more grueling than Russian and German combined, but had an accent as light as Italian or Indian. They spoke in hushed whispers, revisiting a plan they had been cooking up. There must have been something in the water to keep them so docile, but Canada had been a rude awakening. When they brought the Canadian to them, the scientists had probably hoped they think 'oh, they are so strong because they got another country and I shouldn't even try to escape'. How so very wrong they were, and an angry nation is not something you want on your back. As they talked, Prussia twitched with excitement, talons sliding in and out and primary feathers readjusting here and there. Italy was practicing absent mindedly with his electricity and a slight tremor in color rippled through his hair and eyes, constantly causing Prussia to take a double take.

So with a plan in place, and you must remember Prussia was known for his military prowess and strategy; they went to bed, Prussia squatting on a ledge above the bed and Italy beside Canada. In the morning, or at least the period of time they called morning, they woke to the alarm. The wailing continued until all stood at attention at the door. Prussia leaned against the wall tiredly while Italy perked up, Canada just stared straight ahead, blinking every few seconds. Before the door slid open and they were finally let out, Feli whispered something in iron speak into Canada's ear, causing him to widen his eyes, but otherwise not react. They were funneled down a dark hallway, and then came to a crossroads with detainers. The larger one, bristling and brown haired, grunted in disgust at Gilbert, and pointed down the hallway to his right. Looking at his companions, he let loose a cocky grin and pranced down the hall, enjoying his height over the guard. By the way, Prussia grew to be about seven feet five inches (just saying). He soon disappeared from view as Italy and Canada were bottle necked into the hallway exactly opposite of the one Prussia went into.

**Ok, this wasn't extremely eventful, but at least another chapter! I feel so bad for Canada… REVIEW WHILE BECOMING ONE WITH MOTHER RUSSIA! Hehehe… I should mention Mother Russia in every A/N! Random I is.**


	5. Chapter 5

Prussia walked forward at a steady pace, even though his feet were hurting exceptionally today. The farther he went into the tunnel, the darker it got, and he knew he had reached the end of the hall when a stifling cold breeze ruffled his hair and feather. There was absolutely no light, so Prussia listened. Nothing except his heart beat. Soon he grew irritated, and muttered angrily in German. A click lifted his head, and then a heavy grinding, then a mechanical sound. And behold, the glory of heaven was sprinkled before him. The stars twinkled like the martyr soul, brave and strong, refusing to go out even in death. It was stunning; he hadn't seen the sky in such a long time, in made his heart ache with longing. He tasted salt on the wind, and could faintly hear the thrum of waves colliding with rock. He could now see he was on a raised platform, impossible high into the air. In front of him stood a ladder, ascending even further into space. Currently, he was surrounded by wall, but that platform above scraped the sky without the overwhelming presence of structure other than its own. He looked around suspiciously. Surely this was some trick, or experiment, or something of the nature. A note fluttered on the ladder step, one he cautiously snatched. Unfolding it, it read '_We made you with wings for a reason. You've been strengthening them, now if they can't keep you in flight, they will be ripped off and we will cleanse your system of all bird genes, even if it strips you of yours. We will try again. You are ours to craft, and right now you are wet clay. If you don't survive the furnace, you will be smashed. Refuse and face the blood of Italy and Canada upon your hands. We will use any means necessary to keep them beyond your reach.' _ A cold rage filled him, and with a grunt, he pulled himself up the 100 feet off the ground. Before, the height would have made him nauseous, as it was he didn't like planes unless he was driving them. But now… he couldn't wait. He forgot everything, the plan, the threat, the world, and focused on himself. Of course, this took the drugged meat he ate earlier, the manipulation, and the desire to escape.

A strong wind wove around him. A head wind; part of his mind shut off, and the other turned on. Wings unfurled, he fell forward. He was gliding. No words can express the elation that rippled through the Prussian, nothing could describe it except itself. When he thought it could get no better, he flapped. The tips brushed each other both ways, and soon he rose above the platform, higher and higher. He erupted through the clouds, and skimmed their wet surface. It was ecstasy. The sky was even clearer and fuller. He laughed to the air, banking like he had down it every day of his life. The thin air did not bother him, nor did the intense cold. He used his long legs as a replacement for tail feathers, helping his direction change. His feathers twitched as he rose into a steep arch, and brushing the stars. Overcompensating for the ascent, he fell backwards. Adrenaline lifted his wings, but now he was in a never ending twirl. He could sense which direction was which, despite the unlikeness of that. With an exclamation, he straightened himself, pulling up gracefully back into the clouds. Panting, he looked around with wide eyes, figuring out how to hover. Raising his arms above his head in triumph, he yelled into the night.

Turning his wide eyes to the earth, he dived. He could now get a full view of the island. It was rather small, the end still in site but a dull haze surrounding it. It wasn't very wide, either, perhaps only 700 miles wide and 3,000 miles long. Below him was a simple topless farm silo. He gasped in realization; the entire facility was underground. For a moment, he forgot to flap. Righting his self, he spun around in a circle, looking around him. Only wide, deep, endless ocean that reflected the beautiful night. Never the less, he had a chance and took it. They truly were stupid if they thought he was going to stay when he had flight on his side. He rose again into the air, above the clouds as to not be seen. He would have to come back and send help. He flew as hard and as fast as he could, which equaled about 70 miles per hour, equitant to the flapping speed of a Peregrine falcon. He left the cloud cover, seeing that he was nearly over the edge of the island. He rose higher and higher into the air, to where he had a hard time breathing and frost started to crust on his skin. His body started to produce mass quantities of heat, melting the ice but still leaving him cold. When he could see the frothy waves viciously attacking the shore, he felt a stinging creep up his wings and setting in the place between them. It felt like a pressure, so sparing a moment to look back, Prussia saw nothing before a spray of blood shot up from four punctured holes on his back. Hissing in pain, his wings failed him. The pressure left, leaving the holes that went straight to his spine. There were two, right next to each other, next to each wing. Trying to get back into proper flight, he ended up in a position in which his back faced earth. It was getting harder to stay awake and to move, and within seconds he lost all ability to move. And yet, he was still falling. He couldn't even move his eyes, just stare at the now horrible and cold, uncaring witnesses above that they call stars. He would have fought, and he was trying to find a way to, until he felt a brush of leaves, and he knew he was gonna die. Blurry braches crested his vision, and then he stopped falling. Hope coughed, sputtered, and died.


	6. Chapter 6

Panting heavily, Italy guarded Canada right side, whipping the blood from his hands. Canada lifted the pipe, bringing it down on a man before he lifted the muzzled of his gun. Italy wrenched an assault rifle from the heavy grasp of a detainer, screeching "Duck!" before spraying the room with bullets. Around them, many dropped, but more came in, like a ceaseless tide of lemmings. Canada was able to get a machine gun, using his left arm to support the back. They had managed to get outside through a network of tunnels, and before them stood a large silo, and the night twinkled cruelly down at them. More and more men came, eventually having to crawl over the deceased bodies of their fallen. Canada suddenly dropped his gun, face twisting in agony. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head. Without the coverage, a bullet, actually many, pierced the Italian. He fell, causing Canada to scream the typical 'NO!'. He couldn't do anything though, soon he felt the shadow of death, and he was killed. Of course, a plan of brute force would end like this. Honestly, I expected more from them.

A man with a beard like dirty snow 'tutted' at the bodies on the morgue tables, 36511 was currently being marked with a specific identification number and the Prussian flag. The man walked over to the tattoo artist. The tattoo was located on his back, under his wings in the center of his back. It was the flag, and above it in thick blocky letter, **36511**, and below it **PRUSSIA.** He nodded. The holes were sown together, his wings carefully positioned, since they were so broken they couldn't fold. He saw an occasional shift in the flesh as a bone mended, and his black and blue skin has these burst of pale healed flesh. The feathers fell off in bunches, piling on the ground. Nodding, he moved to the Italian. He had been cleaned, the bullet shells removed, and tied with iron chains to the table, as was the other one. He had been already marked, his Italian flag on his right shoulder (on his back) with **36501, **and** ITALY**. The Canadian had his flag on his left pectoral, with **46533,**and **CANADA. **They had tried to find out what was going on in their bodies, but everything connected to them or whatever else you can imagine drew a blank. The electronic machines didn't perceive them at all.

Walking to the one armed man, he fingered the light blonde hair, like light wisps of a morning ray. He ordered the man to cut the hair. With a bundle of hair in hand, he turned and left, leaving four men to take the men to their new enclosure.

Groaning, Canada stirred, tugging the chains, rising into sitting position. His vision flickered, and his head was filled with dizziness, but soon he got his vision and balance back. Italy was still out, and then he caught sight of Prussia. He was purple all over, bones sticking out of the skin and… and… uhg. Canada barfed over the side of the table, wiping away the vomit, nicking his lips with the manacle. He grunted at the stinging on his chest, looking down. His eyebrows lifted in surprise to see his flag and name, thought he didn't approve of the prison number. His hand wasn't tightly bound, so he nudged Italy, waking him.

"America?" He whispered. Canada shook his head, scrunching his brows together.

"No, Canada, you know, the other one? That landmass above America?" He suggested. Rising, he put a hand on his head,

"_Bellimbustoi_ (dude_)_ they cut your hair." Canada slapped his hand away, feeling for his once long locks. Oh, _maple_,

"D-do I really look like America?" He groaned. Italy giggled.

"Well, like the dark version of him, or depressed; perhaps a anger version."

"Its most likely his diet." He mumbled. _Great, I'm a miserable version of my brother. I always look like my brother; why isn't that he looks like me? God, I hate living in his shadow. Always taking his beatings, him always asking me favors when he rememberedme, and him always getting the attention from Britain. Oh, so the rebellious child gets all the attention, but not the one who was loyal? The one who mopped up your blood and tears?! _(He's now talking to Britain; in his head.)_ Oh, so I stayed your colonies, traded with you, but the only person you noticed was him?!_ That anger again seeped into his soul, staining his mind. He tugged against the chains, breaking them like they were potato chips. A clicking alerting him to the cocking of a gun, the detainers were pointing the weapons at them. Italy stared at them, just now noticing.

Geez, people are oblivious sometimes. They stared each other down, Canada's face going red with fury. The detainers had a generic beige uniform; complete with a beige hat, but the one on the far left had brown hair sticking from under his hat, making him noticeable. Canada focused on him, knowing he had some sort of ability, but wanting to know its extent. He pushed with his mind, wondering if it would do anything. He cocked his head to the side, glaring hotly at the man. The detainers looked at each other uncertainly. Before the Canadian had looked flustered, small, adorable, now he looked, well, what the Italian had said,_ dangerous._ His hair fell in his face, the hair short and straight, his curl had been cut off by the tattoo artist when he gave the hair to their boss. It was darker at the roots; but now they had a profile. There was another country, and this one looked like the Canadian. They made a mistake.

The country and the man continued this stare down until the Canadian spoke,

"Your mother was Canadian. Her name was Louis Carp; she currently lives in Ontario with her husband George Carp. They didn't have the money to keep you; they are still looking for you, you have a sister named Melanie that died from a drug overdose. You have a alcohol problem and your cheating on your girlfriend with the drug dealer, who so happens to be Harriet Park Fee. Your cat, Samson, likes to eat garlic bread and peanut butter. On your left calf you have a scar from when you fell off your bike while competing in the Tour de France.

"You lost, so that's what drove you to alcohol and this place because they told you could redeem yourself and take revenge on the infamous high school jock, Carter Lewis, who tripped you. So riddle me this; we just died, came back to life, I know your entire life history just because your mother lived in me, and you have the nerve to think that a gun will stop me?!" He yelled the last sentence. Italy looked on, impressed. He gazed at the startled man, who had dropped the muzzle of his gun and was staring wide eyed at the Canadian. Suddenly a phone went off. The ringtone was 'Canadian Idiot', oh, what a very unfortunate idea of ringtone. Canada turned his head slowly to the American fumbling with his phone. He stood, snapping the chains around his feet. Guns pointed at him, but he couldn't be bothered with it. He took the phone out of the man's hand, smashed it to pieces, and did some lovely things to the detainers, which caused some severe bodily harm.

Afterward, panting, he walked over to Italy, snapping his bindings. The world seemed to haze at the edges. Prussia was still healing, though a killer head ache started up (the head ache was Canada's). A clapping echoed the room, causing both conscious countries to look up at the man at the door. He had a grey beard, like dirty snow. He stepped over the bodies, still unsure if there is any life in them or not, and greeted the countries.

"Marvelous. Simply marvelous, my dear Matthew; it would appear our," He looked at the stub, smiling, "advancements have suited you. As I understand it, you were considerably docile before you took up this venture. Does anybody even remember you as Vinland?" Canada stumbled at the last bit. He hadn't been called Vinland since the Nordics came and found him. Italy looked at him in confusion; he didn't know much of North America's history.

"Wha-" He started before the man cut him off.

"You may call me Mr. Call. It's a name I find ironic. I have done much research on all of you, but the one I find the most interesting is you, Canada, Matthew Williams. If you will come with me, and I can assure your Gilbert and Feliciano won't be brutally maimed." He said cheerfully. Sparing a quick glance backwards, Matthew found that Prussia's wings were glossy and full again, with a band of gold running from the inside of his wings to the edge of his first primary (like the bird on his flag). And just like that, Mr. Call departed, people crouching to get the detainers and dragging them away. Canada ran his hand through his hair, kicking a wall. His head started to thrum, pounding. Italy rose, stretching his limbs, groaning as he did so. He noticed the duress in his fellow conscious country, moving to find out what was wrong.

"Matthew, what's wrong?" he asked straight forwardly.

"My head hurts really bad. But other than that I'm just dandy." He snipped sarcastically. Italy's hair shifted to a lavender, eyes vaguely grey, like he was blind.

"Well, that's interesting. Why did that guy ask you to come with him and then leave? Also, when to you think Prussia will get conscious?" Feliciano questioned, standing and walking to the Prussians side. He was face down, so they couldn't really see his chest as it rose and fell. Good, his organs had been repaired; so that also the bones were in order and that his brain was mended. Matthew stood on the opposite side of the Germanic country, estimating.

"Don't know. I'd rather not think about it. I'll bet… in a hour, considering the most severe damage has been repaired and all he needs is his blood flowing and his skin renewed." Matthew sighed thoughtfully, settling back into his own personality. Italy fingered a feather, which twitched out of his hand. He noticed they were exceptionally soft and the primaries had slots in them, suggesting silent flight.

"Sounds about right. I remember dying of frostbite once; that probably one of the most painful ones."

"Oh, yeah. I get frostbite all the time. Its extremely painful." Matt grimaced.

"So… do you think he flew? Unless they pushed him off a building and he was unconscious, he shouldn't look like Russia sat on his face." Italy remarked.

"I guess he did fly; you can see where tree branches scratched him. I think he landed on a rock, judging by how before his back looked. Did you notice the feathers? The last ones didn't have any gold in them."

"Yes, they're also slotted. I would say these are his adult set of wings."

"Sure. Look, the blood is circulating." Canada pointed to the bruises as they lost their purple hue and cooled to a sickly yellow and blue. The wings folded to Gilberts back.

"Now he's just sleeping." To rest from the healing. About an hour later, food and bedding were deposited. _The food smells different_, Matthew thought. He immediately found one of the foods; pancakes and maple syrup. He dived for the plate,

"I can die now and be happy." He mumbled, drenching the pancakes and chugging some of the syrup.

"Really?" Italy scoffed before he saw the pasta. His eyes widened. Next to it was aged wine. He grabbed both of them, plopping down on the table. He sipped some of the wine, savoring it, and then dived into the pasta, marveling at the taste. He had almost forgotten what pasta had tasted like. Okay, he lied; he still loves pasta. Gilbert awoke with a snort, looking around groggily. He spotted both countries eating happily, than he saw the sausage and beer.

"_MEINE GOTT!DANKE GOTT SO VIEL FüR DIE WURST UND BIER!_ (MY GOD! THANK GOD SO MUCH FOR THE SUASAGE AND THE BEER!)" He threw himself off the table, though with some difficulty, he was able to drag himself into sitting position across from Matthew and munched on the warm, cooked food. He savored the limited taste; they must have put a lot of stuff in this to get it to where he could taste it. The beer slick down his parched throat easily. They were all _so_ hungry; good thing there was a lot of food! Hmm… food. And, being the douche bags they are, the counties started to feel sleepy. Many symptoms later, unconsciousness rose and took them. They didn't complain though; Italy and Prussia were drunk, and Canada was high on maple syrup, so all was well in their dreamlands.

**OK, this chapter was meant to have a sort of lighter tone… except for Mr. Call/ Canadian stalker. I know Google translate sucks… so don't be mean. And I know I got that random lower case… but I needed the Umlaut (is that how you spell it?) and my computer doesn't have it to begin with… And for some reason if it didn't show up at all, then don't worry about it… And Italy saying dude… that was just wrong on so many levels, but, I put it there for a laugh of sorts. Hoped it worked!**


	7. Chapter 7

**OMG! I just read all of the reviews Guest left (and other Guests) (can't wait for you to get a account!) and I thank you greatly! Hahaha! I just singled you out! I would also like to thank, **

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CreamsTheDream

Creator-Of-Nightmare

Fitzzy

Kistunefighter12

Morina Setterwind

PrussetheAwesome

Sierralaf

Super Serious Gal 3

ThePuppyluv24

Ve Kuraresa Bleach

flippy-animegirl

littlerain999

.Knight

**For following me and reviewing! (If your name didnt get trhrough sorry!)To Guests question of whether I drew the picture, sadly, I did not. On a other note, things will be a bit… ok horrible for our countries, but eventually, they'll be taken care off. I do know sometimes its confusing of where they are and what room they're in, and I am sorry for that. Its just that I'm so focused on the story that the details don't get executed as well. Again, the countries are a bit OOC. I don't know, I just really enjoy it when countries are out of character. I guess its how the other countries react. **

**Also, on another, other note; I have gotten reviews saying they couldn't get this story out of their head, and that makes me so happy! To me it means my plot is good, and I've had trouble with staying to the plot in the past. And that you all can feel the emotion of the story, I guess is a way to put it. (I hope this doesn't sound self praising…)So I thank you all again! On to the story!**

Until they woke, and Matthew again was absent. Prussia was on his back, in a tree, looking at the morning sky through several layers of mesh caging material and branches. His arm hung over the side of the wide branch, along with his left wing. Groaning he pulled himself up into sitting position surprised that he was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as a bird can be without the sky. Fortunately, the tree was quite high off the ground. Around him was a forest of trees with similar height; on the ground were bamboo paths and the occasional hut. With his enhanced eyes, he could spot the holy white toilet peeking through a window in a hut. He rubbed his feet; they still hurt. He felt the textured scales on the bottom of them, too. Flexing his hands, he pondered whether he should fly down or climb down. His wings were sore, so that cancelled out flying, and he was probably 50 feet _at least_ off the ground.

He gripped the bark, the motion feeling natural. He tested his weight on his hand, the scales catching the bark like Velcro. His claws also dug into the bark, providing greater support. He placed both his hands on the trunk, then the balls of his feet. He shimmed down the tree, somehow managing to turn face down so that he faced the ground. He was about 20 feet off the ground when Italy came running through, his feet pounding on the path. His hair was shifting rapidly, and he was calling for Prussia. He placed his hands on the trunk Prussia was currently stuck to, panting. His hair rested on a forest green as he calmed down, sweat dribbling down his face. Slowly, oh so slowly, Prussia stopped right above him, and poked him in the head with a sheathed finger. He jumped, looking up.

"_Ma che diavolo?!_" He slipped into Italian. What the hell?! Prussia grinned his typical grin.

"Because I am the AWESOME PRUSSIA!" He yelled, peeling himself from the tree. Now, I must go into detail of how the awesome Prussia did this. His legs curved above his head, pulling the rest of his body off of the tree. It was very graceful *sarcasism does wanders for the soul!*. Gilbert crossed his arms, smirking at the flustered Italian.

"Why-tree- since when are you part geko?!" Italy seethed, still clutching his chest from surprise. Prussia stared at him for a moment in a 'are you stupid?' expression. He showed his hands,

"I have scales on my hands and feet that help me stick to things." He mumbled innocently. Italy looked at them, just noticing.

"Huh." Was all he said. Shaking himself, Italy spoke yet again.

"So I found this hut thing that I guess we're gonna be living in, and new clothes, too. And a freaking shower!" Italy yelled in excitement, jumping up onto the path and leading the Prussian to the hut. Though he would now deny it, Italy was still a little bit of Italy.

Matthew groaned, looking around. He was vaguely aware of wires coming from his arm, stub and his head, but the pain trumped whether he cared or not. It pulsed inside him, intent on knocking down the sides of his head. He heard the whir and buzz of machines, and suppressed a shiver. Though his vision was incredibly blurry; he had also lost his glasses when he landed on the island, he could see Mr. Call sliding on a long white glove. His mind flashed to his landing here, on this nothing island.

_It was early morning when he came. He used a helicopter, landing a ridge, not expecting to find anything. It had his flag painted boldly on its flank. As the blades slowed to a stop, he shed his fur lined coat, and patted away the underbrush as he stomped over roots and things. There were no bird calls, no rustling of insects or other creatures; just the breeze shifting the leaves. Until a deep, robotic noise tore through the peace. Canada tried to run back to his helicopter, but it was farther aware than he thought. The noise started again, deep and tearing. It was a terrorizing noise, sending shivers up his back. The worst part was; he didn't know what direction it was coming from. Adrenaline levels raised dramatically, pupils contracted and sweat poured under and above his red sweatshirt. He could taste fear on his tongue. He stumbled, falling into a cavity of roots. The droning was getting closer, unleashing that terrifying noise every five seconds. Canada tried not to pant, turning his face red in effort. His heart hammered his ears. He was staring at the ground, trying to shrink as much as possible, until a shadow appeared on the sun speckled ground before him. It was large, thin spiderlike legs balancing a body he was too terrified to see. It roared again, shaking the leaves and loose dirt on the ground. It was so loud; Matthew clutched his ears, trying desperately to stop the ringing. Before he knew it, those thin spider legs were perched gracefully on the tree roots around his hole, glaring down at him. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he looked up. The creature was a drone of sorts, white shiny body, shaped like a sideways pear, a single red eye glaring down, focusing and diluting like the lens of a camera. On the other side of its head were a series of guns and pointed things. It growled again, that rose in a high pitched whine that echoed land and sea. It shot him with a tranquilizer, many in fact, and he was too scared to move. There was something about this thing that was wrong; beyond logic, beyond humanity, so beyond hope that frightened him. It lifted his limp, temporally paralyzed body and placed him in a container within its own body. The small door slid shut and a white gas filled the chamber. And he could do nothing…but scream._

He was aware of a weight on his right side, something that wasn't there before but was there before. He was on his back, the beeping of a heart monitor present. He was aware that he wasn't breathing on his own account, given the tube shoved down his throat. His arm was strapped down, so were his legs. He faced his right arm, or absence of. When he opened his eyes, he didn't expect the sight that greeted him. Let's just say… it made his skin crawl and his blood run cold.

They had morphed Italy and Prussia into something different, but they had been manipulating genes, DNA, down on the molecular level. This… was a step up, to say the least.


	8. Chapter 8

Prussia considered the dilemma before him. He was quite dirty, and he stank. It's not like he cared much; he had been soaked in mud and blood, but it was uncomfortable. The grim in his feathers also bothered him, but if they were wet he couldn't fly, and that left him vulnerable. Italy had just gotten done, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. The hut was fully stocked; mini-fridge, sink, toilet, beds (and a nice platform for our strange bird-man), AC, a radio, and a television. It certainly stumped the countries, but it was nice. They finally had a place to rest, and they didn't want it to go away, and questioning it, would make it go away. He turned the water on, nice and hot, and shed his clothes, stepping in. His wings were folded neatly as he washed. Once washed and wrapped in a towel, he found his wings were water repellant, so as he walked into the living area, he shook them out, sending droplets into the air. They caught the sunlight, little rivers of rainbows briefly through the room. Italy had dressed in pants and was currently pulling a loose jacket, sitting on the bed. The hut was a two room hut, one room for living, sleeping, and eating, then the bathroom.

Once dressed in simple pants, he scanned the book shelf. Music flooded the room; Prussia cast a glance at Italy as the Italian opera started. He hummed along with it, staring out the window, the light shifting on his lilac hair. Prussia turned back to the book shelf, sighing in relief as he noted the novels in German. He picked one up, the book large, wide, and old. The title _Epithel-Predigtbuch für die häusliche Andacht _(Epithelium book Preaches to the domestic Devotion) It wasn't very thick, the cover gold etched with an angel lifting up the strange font title. Below the angel was a woman with a child resting his head on her shoulder, a man sat with his hand out, telling a story, perhaps. Below him in a slanted scroll, _Verlag von J. Ebner Ulm _(publisher of J. Ebner Ulm), was appraised. Prussia stared at it thoughtfully, biting his lip. He sat on his platform, flipping through the pages. This book reminded him of when he started out as the Tectonic Order. Hmm… religion, such a strange thing, but we won't get into that.

A loud piercing noise fled through the room, so high only Prussia heard. He dropped the book, hands curling into firsts as talons extended. Prussia felt the world fade away, to only that horrid drilling noise. A feeling swelled inside him as the pitch changed frequency. It dropped through the scales to a deep rolling growl. Endless it seemed, so filling, yet leaving an empty hole. Like constantly swimming in nothing; that feeling seemed familiar, yet he had never seen it. It was feral, underneath the layers of his being… and _new_. For one so old, new is something one would notice, especially if it concerned one's self. It screeched for the wild sky, for the brazen leaps from the trees, for the soft fur of a caught rabbit. Then he noticed that the buzzing had ceased, and the way his body was perched on the platform. Feet right on the edge of the platform, body crouched over it, talons extended and wings closed tightly to him. The air still rung of Italy's opera, creating a strange feeling, again, within. His red eyes focused on the woods cracking the view of the window, the lilac haired Italian still gazing longingly out the window. In a monotone voice, Gilbert spoke,

"I'm going out." He stood, walked out the front door, with barely any acknowledgment from the Italian. His voice was dead as it echoed the room. His hardened soles clicked against the bamboo path. Then is when he noticed the trees were red woods. They soared so, so high… such a delicious and enticing height. There was an assortment of trees, ranging from pine to cedar, and in the distance, a patch of trees found in the Black Forest of Germany swayed in the breeze. The trunk was so thick; it would take five people standing side by side to be able to encompass this tree. He flew up to a branch, landing, the branch was thick enough to walk comfortably, so he walked to the nearest branch, pulling himself higher still until he broke the rippling surface of the crown.

Before him lay miles upon miles of wooded area, to his right, a large cliff with a waterfall gushing down its face. And above all of it, stupefying him to no end were several layers of meshed metal, the hum of electricity present. There were several metal pillars spiking down to the ground in the form of support beams. They were scattered around the area. A banging crash met him. He perked up, eyes searching. His wings stretched outward to the sky, the wind playing softly through his feathers. Then a cry continued three times before faltering, then pushing on. It held a desperate quality, begging to be heard and then answered. He shook his wings again, despite the soreness and took to the air. A pillar of smoke and the bright whips of energy in the distance alerted him to the origin of the bang.

He jumped into the air, feeling far more natural and graceful. He skimmed the tree tops looking for the noise. He traveled miles in minutes, accelerating rapidly. The yelling continued just below him, and expertly he arced backward through the hole in the trees. He flared his wings out, slowing his descent as he lighted down quietly on a branch just above the howling beast. Prussia nearly squawked in surprise and fear. Below him, bleeding and injured, was a flustered Austria, clutching his legs and hissing in pain.

Prussia watched, not quite knowing what to do. Should he go down there and get him? He shook his head, of course he should. Just as he was about to go and get the angry Austrian, a wild boar tore through the bracket. Prussia turned his attention to it as it snorted, sniffing the ground and kicking up dirt. His stomach clenched painfully, and he realized he hadn't eaten since he died. Crouching, wings tucked, he forgot everything other than food. That familiar entity shook him, loosening his hold and influencing his mind. It was the bird; it was actually a multitude of birds. All predatory or scavenger, all meat eaters. The owl hooted of silence, stealth; the peregrine of speed and brutal force; the eagle of high flight and a dive; the vulture, of waiting for the death that so surly comes to all. He twitched with indecision. The boar again snorted, raising its wet and fanged snout to the air, sensing the injured meat sack. Austria was encroaching on its territory, so it felt the need to deal with him swiftly. Roderick cried out in anger, trying to scare the beast away, but only unknowingly challenging it. Prussia knew he should step, or fly, in, so he did.

He brought hell from above. He raised high into the air, mixing all of the thoughts of the feathered wing. He dived, hand talons extended and arms straight out, but loose at the elbows. His wings folded back, and insane glee became him. He slammed into the nearly charging animal, a blur of some blackish angel from above, bringing God's mighty wrath upon the fearful and violent. He slashed and crushed, stomping and devouring, gulping and chewing until all that was left was little more than half a carcass. Blood splattered his chest grotesquely, outlining his dark physical qualities. His back was to Austria, who was softly muttering, _verdammt…_ over and over again. Prussia drew his wings in, the gold band catching the speckled light from the sun and hiding his tattoo. He took a deep breath, satisfied by the huge meal. He cast a look over his shoulder, and could tell the Austrian was trying so hard to keep from whimpering. His legs were badly bleeding, clothes and skin burnt, a long cut on his forearm, probably some broken bones, propped up against a tree.

"What are you doing here, Roderick?" Prussia asked, still not turning. He heard the personification of Austria gasped at his knowledge, his accent. Prussia pulled his wings in tighter, feeling uncomfortable as the birds dived back into whatever place they came from, leaving him with his human thoughts.

"P-Prussia?" He whispered. Said country turned, looking at him grimly, talons sliding back into their sheaths.

"The awesome." He answered dryly, looking around for danger.

"Why are you legs broken?" he continued, looking at them unnervingly. Austria couldn't respond. He stared, almost forgetting his pain.

"Why do you have _wings?!"_ he stuttered. Prussia raised a eyebrow, smirking darkly.

"Oh. That. Many things change in the span of a year; including… my speech pattern." Prussia pointed out; knowing that, indeed, his speech pattern and view of the world had changed. Austria was dressed in 'work' clothes. It was military uniform, dirty and smudged though it was. Austria gaped at him.

"How did you get here? Are you alone?" Prussia pressed, wings fluttering in agitation. Austria took a moment before replying, most likely trying to force the words through his constricted throat.

"We flew here. We had picked up an aircraft on the radar and had found this place. I came here with-" Austria was cut off by a loud, explosive boom about a mile away. Prussia could feel the heat on his skin and could smell the gasoline in the air. Red flames accented black smoke in the distance, burning trees and forest life alike. Suddenly, Austria slumped against the tree, completely unconscious and immobile.

**I updated! Who else loves pointing out the obvious?! That book I mentioned is a actual book; I have a copy. Sadly, I am not bilingual, so I used Google Translate, which we all now sucks. If there are any of those out there of the Germanic origin or living area, and they speak German, I apologize if its wrong. **

** Listen, come closer children for what I say is imperative to the next chapter. What characters should have come there with Austria? I want at least two. I'm open to all suggestions, except for the ones I ignore. Also, I have never written Austria before. On a different note, Prussia's AND Italy's speech patterns have changed. Its most likely me reflecting how I talk onto them. REVIEW YOU READERS! NOW…!**


	9. Chapter 9

Italy saw the explosion from his window, but for some reason, all he felt was the dripping wounds inside. His mind bled, thoughts and memories leaking through the cuts, sometimes coming back and reminding him, sometimes… not coming back at all. He would panic, but he couldn't find the energy to care. He wanted to care. So, _so_ bad, but something held him, firmly, leaving no desire to let him go. A view from mountains, the Alps, crossed his mind. He remembered the cold, biting wind, how much he loved that coldness with the mixture of the warm sun beating down. He remembered the uneven texture of snow under his thickly soled boots, the way the wind moved (north, towards him), flipping his hair back and combing away the sweat. A gruff voice told him to turn around, and when he did, he saw the blonde head he was so familiar with. Germany held up camera, an old one, the 1900's perhaps, and ordered the Italian to move. Italy did not, smiling and planting his cleats into the snow. He spoke, but it was lost as the memory leaked through another cut. Italy wished he could tear at his mind, tear out those damn glands, but his hands stayed on his lap, his hair turned purple and his eyes green, and he watched the flaming smoke stack without a care in the world, but with the weight of it on him. He felt heavy, but without a reason, it seemed. He was restless, but tired. He was insane, but sane.

The song _finally_ ended, so he changed the CD to something faster and newer. And of course, he didn't look. Imagine Dragons flowed out of the speakers; the song _Radioactive_ pumped the room. It was lively, stirring up a rebellious mood. That locking insanity seemed to melt away as the beat added layers and eventually voice. Hmm… with all his mental prowess he couldn't break the ice around his mind, but a song could. Strange is the detail of life.

Feliciano rose from his comfy chair, turning up the stereo until it was ear shattering, and put it on repeat. He walked out of the hut, sensing strangeness in the air. The first sense of urgency filled him, and once he felt it, he couldn't steam the tide that rushed his veins. He shed the jacket, not caring that it fell to the forest floor. Underneath, his identification tattoo stung against the cool air. He wore a white tank, tight over his hard muscles. And he ran. Ran down the path with what seemed unlimited energy; he kept a steady pace, pounding shoed feet against the treated bamboo. He noticed the redwoods, marveling at their intense and nauseating height. His hair and eyes settled on their old appearance, feeling the natural color through his roots. It was a strange sensation, color. So full of meaning that couldn't be deciphered because it holds a different meaning to all people. It was meaningful, and meaningless. Italy seems to have become one big contradiction.

He could still hear the music, faintly, as he approached a crash site. A deep trench carved through smaller trees and deep into the ground. Italy could stand in the deepest part and the level earth would come up to his shoulder. A private plane was flipped on its side, both wings completely torn off along with the tail, leaving the back a gaping hole, and the nose, also leaving a raw wound. All that was left was a small shell of the aero-machine. Looking up, Italy saw broken and charred branches, and a all covering cage. He expected a great fissure on that cage, but no, it looked like nothing had happened at all. He looked back at the wreckage, a spark of hope lit inside him. That icy insanity was no were in sight. He approached the wreckage, faint heat waves coming off the plane. He saw blood, but most of the paint on the plane had been burnt off. Was it his brothers? His heart quickened, his tongue dry, eyes completely entranced on the small hull of the plane. He tried to be aware of his surroundings, but he couldn't. He could feel fear prick at his bones, but from what, he could not say. Fear for what he'll see? … Or rather what he won't? He turned so that he was facing the inside of the plane, and saw… blackened rubbish. Crates lay burnt, somewhat intact. Plackets lay strewn everywhere, covering things, perhaps protecting things? Feliciano walked closer, daring his luck. Behind him, a trig snapped and a branch rustled. He paused, slowly turning. Holding dirty 9 mil, Romano pointed it at his brother.

Italy stared at his brother, his chest swelling as he took a deep breath of relief. His hair fell into his eyes, and he realized it was still brown. Good. He did not want his hair turning blue while talking to his brother. Romano looked at him uncertainly, then finally recognizing his face (since his body was disturbingly toned (the tattoo is on Italy's back(he hasn't seen it yet))) he dropped the gun, running and embracing his brother. Italy returned the embrace, relief he hadn't felt in so long overwhelming him to such a degree he had to control his tear ducts. It seems his brother had completely abounded this same endeavor and cried into his _fratello's _shoulder. He was mumbling something along the line of _I thought we would never find you, jerk_, and other things that make not even the author can decipher. Eventually the brothers pulled away, Romano going to check if he was hurt. Before Romano could lift his arm to check his ribs and underarm, Italy pulled it out of his grasp, smiling lightly.

"Romano, I am not hurt." He said calmly, rubbing his wrist. Romano furrowed his brow lightly, but nodded.  
"Were you here the entire time?! This island is off of Swedan! We should have found you early damnit!" He ranted. Italy gave a start,

"No, as far as we know we were recently transported here after we tried to escape. Canada and I got shot to death." He pouted. Romano was the one who gave a start.

"Who the hell?" Romano wondered,

"Romano. Did you come here alone?" Feli pressed urgently, while putting an arm around his _fratello's_ shoulder. Romano grimaced, gripping his forearm tightly in a defensive manner.

"No, I'm not stupid. I came here with music bastard, potato bastard, tea bastard and hamburger bastard." Romano spat, starting to walk away with his brother from the wreckage. Italy glanced uncertainly at it while walking away. They rose to the bamboo path, trotting upon it. Italy was a head of Romano, who was lagging behind.

"Why do you have a (_implied curse word_) tattoo?!" Romano panted. Turning on his heel but still running, Italy could see his brother was bleeding. He stopped abruptly. He thought to himself; of all the ways he could react to seeing his brother again, he acted simply as he had been there the entire time. He could see it in Romano's eyes, the hesitant confusion as to why Italy wasn't clinging to him or crying. Why he wasn't his small self, why he wasn't demanding pasta.

"Romano, your hurt." Italy stated, taking long strides to him. Being (now) the big and imposing man (still same height) he was, Romano flinched at his brothers pace. Taking his brothers arm in both hands, he cast a warning glance at Romano.

"This may hurt, and please don't scream." He warned further. Romano looked at him in confusion. Than his beloved little brother's hair turned neon red and his eyes smoky yellow. He yelped, trying to get out of his brothers grasp on impulse, but Italy held on with gentle strength. He then released a quick pulse of medium voltage electricity in his brother's arm. As he did this, his hair went through rapid changes, somehow taking on something similar to patterns. It would have a zipping streak of, say, blue in yellow. He withdrew his hands, leaving a cooling scab in place of an open bleeding wound. He sighed with exhaustion; that took more than it had previous. Probably because he had to expend more energy to keep the electricity at a constant level. Romano looked at him, shaking, in pain, looking near ready to bolt.

"Lovino… I'm sorry." Italy said forlornly, starting backwards. He felt… worthless. Surprisingly, he felt for the first time that his new 'adaption's' degrade him. He had hurt Roma, even if it was to help him. But it wasn't just that, the realization hit like he had drove into a wall. He saw who he used to be, and he didn't like it. But what value does that have when he was who he was now? He was cracked, and colors and electricity were his being, apparently. He was splitting, failing, falling into an abyss of unforgiving forgetfulness. He didn't remember the last time he saw his brother, yet he did. He had the memories, he can remember them, yet he doesn't want to, while he does. Indecision is a word that comes to mind. What should he do? Fight. Flee. Both thoughts collided in unison. He growled mentally; _I thought I got rid of the cowardess._ But those thoughts had collided for more often than he thought. No… he just smothered it, the cowardess. What was making him a coward? What… who made him want to hide? Rome, he supposed… but no, it wasn't him. Was it…? Feli shook his head, ashamed. No, no, no, no, no, no… it couldn't be… himself… that he feared? That he wanted to run from? No, NO! He denies it! He will not permit fear of himself; its illogical and irrational- and that's exactly what Rome would say.

"Lovino… follow the path… I have…. To deal… with myself… before… go." He whispered, unsure if Romano heard him. Romano looked stunned, but faintly nodded, looking back at his brother with longing. He wanted to help, but would run away anyway. Because he could sense the tide within Feli; the tide of anger, fear, hate, held back tension… stress, which I guess is the same as tension. The deprivation of proper positive stimulation, forcing him to turn on himself for faults not his own. Romano didn't quite know exactly what was going on with Feliciano, but he had known him long enough to know he was terrified of something; he just stopped showing it. And that had made it infinitely worse. He could also sense the unhinged quality of his beloved fratello; if this place could made a _country_ go insane (he previously thought it was _impossible_ for a country to go insane) it truly was hell. He cast one more looked back a Feli, who had already fled. Considering what this place had down to Italy… Romano was terrified, he wanted to leave right now, without delay. But there was that giant net cage thing, and their plane crashed… He wished Spain was here, but he was off dealing with his country and Italy, since Romano had insisted on coming. He sighed; what had happened for all this to happen? He shouldn't have let Feli go that day… it was his fault… because he had been to scared to get him so he had sent Prussia… it was all his fault… Canada, which they had just learned had been captured, all the countries sadness, it was all Romano's fault, because he was so damned _afraid. _Because he was such a damn _coward_. He wished he could change… be stronger, better, so he could protect his fratello. He would do _anything_ to protect Feliciano; or he liked to think he would.

**Yes. So I addressed Feli's POV more here, to try to explain his insanity and such. If I didn't address something, please tell me and I'll get to it in the next chapter. And I'm not ignoring or forgetting Canada… just building up the tension. Next chapter will be his, I think. I have plans for him and Prussia… I'm gonna make them EVEN FREAKING COOLER! Perhaps a bit 2p if I'm not careful… In case ya'll haven't seen, 2p! Italy is freaking awesome! He cuts 2p Germany… hehehehehehe (aka kolkolkolkolkolkolkolkol)**


	10. Chapter 10

"My… my, my, my… Mr. Call, you're right! The new line of experimentation was a success! Look! He's waking up!" Bubbled a researcher. Mr. Call glanced at the observation table, behind a circular glass observation deck. It was light, and the sky shone through a over head skylight. It beamed down on the beautiful creature that rested on the mauve table. His hair truly looked like it belonged to the ever glowing rays of the sun, and his skin was pale and soft; good for the wires and mechanics. Mr. Call shook his head kindly; this Canadian was so much like his child… It was frightening, really.

Matthew blinked at the bright, burning light. He noticed his left arm strapped to a table, and the other… wasn't flesh. That's what he noticed first, of course because it was more noticeable than the thick leather strap around the wrist, elbow, and shoulder. A slow whirring made its self known, followed by a rippling click and buzz. Sparks shot within the machine, but settled, and a sort of rushing of air in segments, and pain. Immense, cleansing, horrid pain; perhaps not the worst, but still. A wet twisting sound, clenching. It was indescribable, this agony. He felt bits of him being gripped, and pinched, locked in place, to this machine. His eyes watered as it continued, forever it seemed. He wished to tear away from these bindings, but somehow he found it impossible to move the rest of his body through the pain.

"The mechanics are attaching themselves to his nerves and muscles fibers. Says here that his adrenaline levels are reaching dangerous levels. He could give himself a heart attack, sir." The researcher reported to Mr. Call.

"What do you suggest?" Christian P. Call asked calmly, stemming the rising panic expertly.

"Well, if we flush the adrenaline out of his system and put him under he'll be calm and he won't have to feel the pain."

"Paul, cleanse his system, but don't put him under. If he goes now, the mechanics will cannibalize themselves and his nerves _and _his muscles fibers." Call said. Paul, the researcher, did exactly what he said, administering a clear fluid through the small tubes attached here and there around the Canadian's body. It cleared his blood, acting like white blood cells and attacking the adrenaline. Canada's breathing calmed, his eyes rolling somewhat into the back of his as all his energy left him. His breathing steadied, his blood pressure dropped; things of the like. A sequence of events took place from there. The mechanical arm finished attaching its self, burrowing into the very marrow of his shoulder joint. Then it sent a series of information through the nervous system to the brain, on both sub and conscience levels. It rooted itself deep into the brain, contaminating every neuron. It would not leave anytime. It gave him information of operation, codes, procedures, and protocols, the specific numbers to a specific part, so he'd now if it was missing. Afterward, a clear liquid substance was sprayed over the arm, soaking into every nook and cranny, sealing the arm to the molecular structure. In seconds it hardened, becoming as hard as a diamond. It was heat, pressure, and shock resistant, water impervious, and stunningly beautiful. The arm looked like it belonged in an art show; it had a rugged grace, a grungy personality, with an apocalyptic sort of glow. You could imagine this arm hanging in the future as smoke rose from the pores of the dying earth. But there was some… determination about it. He could do things, incredible things, and he knew it. He will show the world it, even if it killed him. This arm was his; it was part of his being, part of his soul. And he would die with it. His brain recognized this attachment as a part of his body, so it was.

A sharp prick roused him from his heavy slumber. Groggily, he sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. One was soft, warm; textured… the other was alarmingly cold and hard, yet smooth. With wide eyes he saw his new arm. A shadow of pain rushed over his skin, raising goose flesh. He set his right arm on his lap, gazing at it. He rubbed it, and strangely, he felt it. He could feel that oval shaped callus on the heel of his hand, and how it seemed to search for traction on this new surface. The arm purred (was that his imagination?) in response. He clenched the fist, furrowing a brow. It was a soft fist, and gradually he tightened it. A noise alerted him of a presence. Looking up with startled eyes, Mr. Call walked in, leaning on a dark wooden cane. He wore a plaid petticoat; he looked like a English professor.

"I see your motor system functioning properly." He observed quietly.

"Was this why you _hacked _my arm off?!" Canada spat with the largest amount of venom milked from his metaphoric fangs. Mr. Call looked truly sad for a moment before covering it up with a small smile.

"We did give a sort of hint with your identification tattoo. Oh… you've been unconscious for about a month, I forgot you haven't seen it." Confusion plain, Canada went to look for this tattoo. He found it quickly on his left pectoral; his flag, his name, and his number.

"You get a different number because you are a different line of exploration. You countries seem to have something special, something we humans don't."

"You're human? Haven't noticed. All I saw was a giant d-"

"Now, now Canada, you don't want to disappoint your audience with foul language like the foul thing you are." This information didn't quite process in time. His vision darkened to a hellish red, and when it cleared, he saw that the table had been torn about and throw across the room. His hands were curled like Prussia's; right before the claws were unsheathed. He gasped at what he did, looking around for Mr. Call in a distraught expression. He was nowhere, but he noticed two men. Both blonde, both shocked beyond belief, and both tied to a chair as a captive audience. Canada dropped to his knees, tears quivering on his lids as he met the cerulean and emerald eyes. That cotton filled his head again, and he moaned in frustration, looking down with a devastating tone. A small, silver stream of tears slid down his face, but it stopped there. He _refused_ this horrid wave of emotion; it would engulf him and he would _drown._ When he evened out his gaze back to the two, the tears were gone.

Canada stood, eyes filling with determination. His stride suggested a plan. He walked to his fellow countries, looking down at them.

"C-Canada?" They both stuttered.

"Yes. Hold still." Canada tested out his new arm, gazing at it as a hissing filled a chamber, and a long blade flew from a hidden compartment. He used it to cut the chains wrapped around the countries, heating the blade to do so. They rubbed their wrists as the blade retracted back into Matthew. The door was bolted shut; he knew he wasn't going to get out, so he looked around for a place to talk, but there was none. He looked at the corners of the room, finding the cameras he expected. He sighed, depilated.

"You shouldn't have come here, England, America." He growled, looking at the glass observation window curiously. It was darkened, so they couldn't see the distressed scientist and researches and section leaders freaking out. Canada's mental activity was highly irregular, shooting off the charts.

"B-but I had to save you! I-I'm the h-"

"Shut up America, I don't need to hear your crap about you being a hero. If you're going to 'save' us, than start doing it. Do you see this?" he pointed to his new arm, "They will, and have, done worse. Italy's half insane, and Prussia… god, I don't _want _to get into his problems. What are you going to do about that?!" Canada yelled, so, so very frustrated. Just because he was invisible, doesn't mean he was useless. But that's all he's been, hasn't he? He got his arm chopped off, (lets bring that up again, why don't we?) even before that he was useless. They both recoiled; England hadn't even said anything and that felt like a good scolding. Canada sighed heavily, his thoughts scattering. He swayed a little on his feet; just regular swaying you do when you're bored.

"Who came with you? I mean, it's not like you're going to leave; they have too many people."

"U-uh. Germany, Austria, and Romano."

"Great." He said sarcastically as Mr. Call walked back in. Canada growled at his entrance, feeling like the caged animal he was. Mr. Call looked even more cheerful than before.

"Oh, Canada, oh Canada-" Mr. Call started before Canada cut him off.

"Look, I get you have some strange obsession with me, but singing my national anthem, really?" Canada grinned, enjoying the slightly embarrassed expression that briefly crossed Call's face.

"Now, now. Let's be civil. As I understand it, that dumb looking one is America? And obviously the English one with the huge eyebrows is England; correct?"

"Yes." England and America both blanched at Canada. _Why did he give us up?! _Was a racing thought each of their head's.

"Good enough. Paul, if you'll please put them under for transportation." Call ordered. Before they knew it, they were, again, unconscious.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such _noble_ things they think they are yet they can be rendered unconscious in the same amount of time that humans can. Of course… there is the exception, my dear Canada; the first of the N. G. Prussia may join, I suppose, but that Italian… hmm… seems implanting glands into his brain appeared a bit off kilter, did it not, Paul?" Mr. Call asked over his shoulder to his loyal researcher. Paul nodded harshly, hoping to please his boss. A gaggle of detainers and scientists buzzed around, securing the countries to gurneys and rolling them out.

"Sir, are you sure you're regenerated enough? That experiment got you pretty good when he was, to quote the teens, 'raging'." Paul chatted. Call grinned,

"Yes, yes, Paul I'm fine. This old man isn't about to give out, nor is our righteous goal."

**I haven't forgotten Canada! Didn't expect the attack of the robot arm, did ya? I wasn't quite sure I was going to do it, but I guess it was predictable. I foreshadowed a little with his prisoner number, because I knew I wasn't going with genetic manipulation with Canada. Because he was gonna be a different line of experimentation. Yeah… REVIEW!**


	11. Chapter 11

Flap, rise, fall, trot, flap, rise, fall, trot, flap, rise, fall, trot. Prussia was doing all of these in this sequence, dragging the Austrian on his back with every painful stroke of a wing. When he felt he could go no longer, he fell to his knees, Austria rolling on the ground. That's when he noticed the rash. It was an ugly, wrinkled red that was spreading rapidly up his calf and his arms. The worst of it were his feet and hands; how swollen and ready to bust they were. He couldn't even really see his toes. His vision wavered, everything hurt, his mind was sore. He glanced back at Roderick, who looked like he was about to gain consciousness. Gilbert was right; Austria woke, disheveled, without his glasses because they had fallen off during flight and Gilbert didn't feel like getting them.

"G-Gilbert?"Roderick stuttered, a distance away from said man. He dragged himself over to the black eagle and squinted at him.

"You still have wings, correct?"

"Very funny little master." Prussia gurgled as something started up his throat. He gagged for a moment before it passed.

"What's wrong?" Austria mumbled.

"Don't know." He hissed. The rash started to form large, grey spoils all over the infected area, disgusting the Prussian. Gilbert wobbled, trying to stand again, finding the sores on the bottom of his feet. They popped, but Gilbert paid no mind. He had to get Roderick out of here.

"Are your legs broken?" Gilbert asked again, staring down at him.

"I think so." Was his pained reply. Prussia glared for a moment before taking the man up in his arms, bridal style.

"Hold on." Prussia ordered. Austria obeyed. Looking at the sky, Prussia tried to calculate how he was going to get into the sky at almost a 90 degree angle with minimal energy and no wind. He looked at a tree, and suddenly he could see it. A white line traced from the bottom of his vision to the tree, giving a 43 degree angle. He could manage that. He would have to push off the ground with 50 lbs of pressure, land on the tree only to push off to… Gilbert traced the invisible line with his vision, seeing he would have to jump from the point B to point C at 71 degrees with twice as much power. Then he would have to go from point C to the sky at a 137 degree angle. But he would need his arms for this. He looked at the flustering Austrian, math still tumbling around his head. He looked back up, adding a formula here or there for the amount of strength required, and factoring in everything that needed to be factored in. His mind's eye was now littered with mathematical equations. _ Great_… He thought._ I had always sucked at math_. He crouched, still holding the Austrian, and pushed off toward the tree. His feet landed smack into it, and he used this momentum to push off toward the other tree. A presence in his head shook loose of the dust it had been drowning in. This presence was old; older than everything he knew. It had the familiarity of the birds, but a streak of the unknown in it. Archaeopteryx was his name. The first bird, but also a reptile; he would glide from tree to tree. He had four wings; his arms, his legs, and he used his tail as a rudder.

Prussia pushed off another tree, going for the hard angle. He flapped hard, misjudged the distance, and his lower body crashed into branches. But on still he went, flapping ever harder, ever higher, until he was high off the ground. Most of his sores had popped, the pus dripping down his legs. He shook the Austrian to get his attention,

"Look." He ordered, alerting Roderick of the height at which he was traveling.

"How… high are we?" He wondered. Prussia looked down, judging.

"Exactly 567 feet above the ground."

"How can you tell?" Roderick groaned, clutching the bird man harder due to a irrational fear of heights. Prussia saw all fear of heights irrational now; falling, yes, he could understand that fear, but height? No.

"My minds all messed up. I have so many types of birds mixed into me not only do I possess their instincts but I just discovered a highly attuned sense of geometry and algebra." Prussia said flatly. Austria stared at him for a moment.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH PRUSSIA?!" he freaked out.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, though I would really like to escape by then, but that's very unlikely."

"How so? Didn't you try to escape?" Austria demanded.

"Yes. But this weird invisible thing bit me and I fell to the ground. Italy and Canada got shot after they tried to escape." He deadpanned. Austria noticed how grey and emotionless Prussia seemed to be.

"Oh." Was all he said.

"Yeah… escape. That word is meaningless without the action. Wait. You said my bruder was here?" Prussia demanded, looking down at him with his scarlet eyes. Austria seemed caught in them for a moment before replying, the wind drying his blood and sweat and blowing back his hair. Everything seemed to be a bit blurred in the distance, but he could see Prussia's face and shoulders fine.  
"Yes; we flew on a plane and we crashed through that fence thing. I came here with Germany, Romano, England and America. I don't really remember how I got so far away from the crash site, only that the plane will never fly again. I don't know where anyone else is." Austria informed. Prussia paused a bit to absorb this information. Seemed the most impressionable of all the countries to their situation had arrived; that made things interesting, to be certain.

"Well, I can guess were England and America are; they're probably with Canada, wherever he is. Italy most likely saw the explosion and went to investigate-"

"Italy?! Going to investigate an _explosion?_ W-what? You know he'd start crying and demanding pasta!" He groused. Prussia chuckled a bit at this, readjusting Austria and going higher. The wind was cold against their skin, but the warmth coming off Prussia was enough to keep Austria warm.

"Italy has become quite a mystery. He had surgery on his brain; the scientists implanted these electrical conductors and glands that change his hair and eye color rapidly. That obviously caused him to become partially insane, and cruel." Prussia said. Austria shivered, not believing what Gilbert had said. He couldn't believe him; he knew Italy, and despite how much of an idiot he was he was strong enough to ignore the pains and terrors of the world with his cheer and pasta. Cruel? No… all of this was too much; Prussia's wings, the fact he _tore about a boar _still made Roderick's skin crawl. Gilbert wasn't as energetic, as self praising, and this difference in him, inflicted by _humans_, made Austria truly scared; what would they do to Germany, Romano, England, America? If they had the imagination to figure out to get bird wings to grow out of a mammal and freaking _glands_ and the ability to bend electricity to your will, what would they have in store for them? Would they take revenge on Germany for his Nazi years, punish him? Would Romano take the same habit from his brother? America's delirious dreams of super heroes and all that would more than likely cloud his judgment; heck, he'd think he was going to become Caption America. England… he didn't even know how England would react, or what mutation would take place. Austria didn't even know what had happened to Canada and he could tell it was bad, very bad. What type of butchery would cause this? What hellish mind could conjure this? If it was bad enough to drive a _country_ insane, when their very history and wars could do that in an instant if it was thought to be _possible_, that what awaits the others? \

Fear crusted his heart that was pumping wildly, trying o break that stinging shell. Austria wanted so badly for Hungary to come and start beating away the monsters with her frying pan; but no, he would perceiver, he would get Prussia, Italy and Canada out; he had to; for if a life not serving others is wasted on one's self, what is the purpose of living in the first place?

**I know this chapter was a bit short, and if I'm getting repetitive, sorry, but each individual who finds out does have a similar reaction to the information that is given by one of the three countries. If that made sense. I may take a rest from this story, because I feel I'm losing my touch with this one, due to the dullness of the dialogue and things of the sort. The reaction the countries give, and I want to get lose right, because that's the whole part I love the most about OOC- the reaction everyone has to that character. If you can see some of that fading here, do tell me. In either sense of I AM losing my touch, or my writing is fine. Anyway, I enjoy reviews! And any suggestions on what mutation/mechanical engineering I could give to a specific country? It has to be in the ball park of explainable, like Italy with the glands, even though your hair would change color that rapidly due to the glands because hair is just dead protein. It would change slowly from the roots as the hair grew. But than again, I'm just using my imagination along with my limited understanding of biology and mechanics. Mostly I'm using what've I read or seen on TV or in a book. **


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm BACK!**

Germany stumbled through this strange wood; trees from his land and from entirely different parts of the world. Mostly redwoods, for some odd reason. He was injured from the plane crash; so were the others, obviously. They had been thrown out of the plane while it was fish tailing after they had smashed through that net. He thought the saw Austria land on his legs strange. This island looked like the place that _they_ could be. That gigantic electric fence surrounding the tops of the trees was more than ominous and bizarre. He looked around, spotting a wooden path in the distance. He was more than a bit shaken up; this place shook him. The wickedness seemed to seethe in waves from this place; despite the pretty scenery it was full of negative intent. His head shot up as he sensed a familiar presence. It was something powerful. Glancing behind him, he thought he saw a flash of movement dart behind a tree. He shivered, wondering to the path.

As he trudged onto the creaking wood, he found that he was cold. In the crash he had only been wearing his white tank and his cargo pants, which had holes in both of them. This felt wrong to him; the path. Should he be on it? As he thought about this, he didn't notice a similar set of foot falls making their way toward him, until a loud voice and the clicking of a gun alerted him. Surrounding him were four armed men, sniper and assault rifles pointed at his head and chest. He was flabbergasted. How could they have sneaked up on him without him noticing? Sure, he was thinking… what's that smell? Why were they wearing gasmasks? Oh _Scheiße_; they were gasing him.

Adrenaline filled him to the breaking point as he launched himself at the nearest man without a thought. He ripped the gun away and slammed the butt of the weapon against the man's head. He would try his hardest not to kill them; he had done enough killing and he was more than tired of it. The World Wars still echoed in his head, driving him farther away from were his mind should be. But then he would see his life now and try to forget that horried time. It worked, most of the time.

All of the men opened fire, causing the German to grab the recently unconscious man to use as a sheild. Just as he predicted, they stopped fireing. He could see the panic in their eyes. Despite what they did, they were human and they did care about those close to them. Ludwig held the gun up and pointed it at them, grabbing the now conscious man around the neck in a choke hold. His head was swimming as he inhaled whatever gas they were pumping into the area. His eyes dropped, and then snapped open. He had loosened his grip and the man had escaped, kicking him in the gut and giving his head a nice punch. Dizzy, the German stumbled and nearly fell of the path, which had been raised about three feet off the ground in this area. He felt strong arms push him back up, and a thudding as feet smacked the bamboo.

Italy cocked his head to the side as he smelt the air; he could feel the fear rolling off the men. They knew him; from either watching him or from what the survivors had said.

Oh, lovely; one was from Sicily. Italy squinted, setting his hair color back to its regular color, but his eyes were a shining black. He looked like a demon. Too add to the fear factor, he found that his skin whitened._ Meraviglioso (Wonderful) _He thought. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Germany pant lethargically. He cracked a small grin; he was happy to see the German. Before he could talk to him, though, he would have to deal with these idiots. His energy cackled on his hands and up his arms, forming an unholy armor of heat and energy. He stepped forward as they raised their guns and fired. Raising his hands the lighting raced and bit into the bullets, making them little more than falling puddles of metal. In that moment, the detainers all knew that the N. G. experiment had failed. If they couldn't control their experiments, what hope could they have to use them?

The lies that Silver Crest Corp had told them dissolved into a fiery mess as they turned tail and ran. Most of them just patrolled, they had never killed anything before. But if they had let the countries go without a fight their families would take the price. Mr. Call ran Silver Crest; a pharmaceutical company that disperses its medicine internationally.

No one knew of the island that the majority of the N. G. research and execution took place. They had moved from the old one because the Prussian had seen what the outside looked like from an aerial view; despite the fact they had allowed it. It was also imperative for them to have this island, where they were also trying to get trees from all types of climates to cohabitate in this one cold climate; in short, they were multitasking. Italy ran after them, taking a leisurely pace as they were going as hard as they could. He literally hummed as he grabbed one man by the legs and tore off his mask. Getting lost in the moment, he sparked his light, and moved to the man's terrified face. It was the one from him; Benito. Single, dog lover, likes to garden. This gave pause to the Italian; he looked at the man, turning his eye and skin color normal. He still glared with white hot hate and still held his hand to his face, but seeing his citizen gave him curiosity. Cocking his head to the side, he placed two fingers on his forehead, closing his as he focused. A jolt of energy shot through the man's brain, bringing the information to Feliciano. Looking down, he realized he had knocked Benito out. Stepping back, Feli looked down in confusion. His brain didn't know what to make of this information; he could sense it there but couldn't quite decipher it, so his mind automatically compressed it. Rummaging through his bag, Italy took all his weapons and anything else of value, stuffing it in a huge back pack; he even took Benito's protective gear and gas mask, though the gas didn't bother him in the least; they had used it on them back where ever they had been and he had built up a tolerance. Germany was still heaving as he approached. Feli dropped the bag on the ground with a heavy thud.

"Get up before they send more." Feliciano ordered. He felt slightly nervous as he spoke. He was eager to fight but at the same time he didn't want Germany to react badly. He didn't know why he would get this sense from him or why he even cared. He certainly held no romantic notions; his mind was too befuddled to comprehend it.

"Huh?" Ludwig groaned as he looked up. The light was shining in his eyes, making it impossible to dissect any features. But he could have sworn… that accent. Leaning heavily on his hands, he pushed himself up as the gas cleared from his lungs. He finally got a good look at the shorter male.

"Feliciano?" he murmured, looking at him with extreme confusion showing on his face.

"Yes." He replied through clenched teeth, glaring hotly at Ludwig. A stick cracked in the distance, causing Feli to jump and that feared smirk to cross his face. He let loose a low chuckled as a foolish detainer attacked from behind. He had probably seen Benito, thinking Italy had killed him. Italy grabbed the gun and snapped the muzzle, shoving the jagged tip back at the man with a streak of electricity. It embedded in his shoulder, burrowing itself into the bone. He let loose a horrid scream of agony as the pain drove him into unconsciousness. Rubbing his hands together as to get off the 'dirt' he turned back to Germany sheepishly.

"W-w-what?!" Germany struggled. Italy shrugged; he couldn't find it in himself to react with excitement, even though he knew he should.

"I'll explain once we get _out of enemy territory._ Do I need to drag you, Germany?" Italy mocked, using a threat Germany would use during training. He moved, picking up the bag and darting off into the wood. Dumbfounded, Germany stood there for a moment before it processed enough that he should really follow Italy. Something told him he wouldn't wait for him. As he jumped off the trail and caught up with Italy, he noticed the identification number on his back. That had him worried. It reminded him…

"I-Italy! Where are you going?!" Germany yelled as Italy just kept going forward without even a hint of recognition. Least to say, Germany was unnerved by this behavior. Why was he acting this way? Surely… this place isn't _that_ bad?

As they ran and ran, Ludwig spotted a hut in the distance, obscured by foliage. Italy slowed to a stop as he let a lose breath go. He hadn't even broken a sweat, whereas Germany was panting and sweating. Spinning on his heal, he turned to face the tired man.

"So, here's basically what happened." He ran through what had happened as they wondered into the hut, to find a Romano sprawled on the bed, cursing at his phone. He had turned the music off. He jumped when he heard them.

"Where have you been?!" he seethed at Feliciano.

"Saving his a**." He replied, taking the phone away. Germany noticed Romano's slight flinch.

"It's dead." He simply remarked.

"Not if I can help it." Italy grinned, crawling up on Prussia's perch.

"Hay… Feli?" Romano asked cautiously, sparing a glance at the ever confused Germany, who mouthed 'What's wrong with him?', to which Romano said, 'You'll see, potato b*****d.'

"Hmm?" He was distracted by the phone as he turned it over in his hand. "How am I going to convert the energy?" He murmured to himself. He threw it up in the air, the electricity arching from his hands and connecting with the sleek body of the phone, keeping the electronic there suspended. Germany gaped as Romano grimaced, looking away. Suddenly the phone's face flickered to life, the touch pad being taken over by the company's logo as it got some energy into its battery. Italy chuckled darkly, watching with wide eyes as they changed red.

"Italy!" Germany yelped. All of a sudden, the phone dropped as Germany snapped Italy out of it. He glared at him with his scarlet eyes, so similar in color to Prussia's. They were filled with something he had never seen in this Italian. Was that why Romano was acting strange, because he was trying to keep Feliciano? Ludwig was fighting the urge to punch the wall; this confusion made him angry, and that gaze was frightening him. It was something he had never seen from Italy! (If that wasn't over stated enough.) Why were his eyes red? Had… had Italy become a sort of predator now? When he was under Germany's protection, he was the prey, the pet.. but now?

"What, do, you need?" he growled, sitting up.

"What's wrong with you! You were never like this-" Germany started. Before he knew what hit him, Feliciano had impulsively launched himself from the perch at him. He pressed him against the wall, holding him there by the neck. Leaning in to whisper in his ear, Italy tried to calm his energy. He wanted to give Germany a taste of his… _personality_.

"Dear, dear, _misguided_ Germany. You see, a lot can happen in a year. I've had my skull _cracked_ open, and my brain messed with. For the _scientific betterment of society._" He hissed this. "I was terrified, to say the least. But then, one day, with the buzz of that bone cutting saw still ringing in my head, I made a discovery about myself. That I hate _everybody._" He grinned, tightening his grip. Romano felt those words like a stab in the heart. "Besides Prussia and Canada, I suppose, them being there with me. Anyways, I got tired of waiting, of _hoping._ Hope is for the weak. I was _weak_, Germany, because I was hopeful that if I just laid down and surrendered, everything would be alright.

"I was a squalling child who was too scared by Rome to reach his full potential_. _But see, its been locked away, hidden in my mind. Then, get this, when they cut into my brain, it leaked out! Ha! Memories are bleeding, falling in and out and in and out and in and out of the cuts! Sometimes I can't even remember who you are! It's delightful really." As he went through this rant, his hair and eyes fluctuated dangerously.

"This locking _thing_ in my mind. I feel like I'm with Rome again! I'm even remembering what he used to say to me; _Fear is illogical and irrelevant, those who chose to fear deserve death_. Or, _Too the victor goes the glory; to the loser goes the shame. _Oh! Let's not forget the, _I am the Roman Empire! You are my kingdom; nothing more, and nothing less. You are a slave and you will never amount to anything above that. _I suffered greatly in that hell hole." He suddenly became serious from his delirious rant.

"You never know what your hell will be." In a singsong voice, "For a country, it's ourselves, and something else, perhaps. We are spawned and killed in the most painful ways; our existence is one of absolute slavery. Do you think that given the choice not to be a country, we would be ourselves? We represent the most common qualities of our people, so who we would we be?" he drawled, slowly calming. Germany's face had become red and he was having difficulty breathing. Italy looked down at him in disgust as he released his grip. Feli marched into the bathroom, slamming the door. Germany slid down the wall to a sitting position, absolutely shocked. Romano was sharing a similar expression; one of a slacked jaw and wide, wet eyes.

**So… not the reuniting you thought of between those two, eh? Indeed, Italy snapped a little. It was still around the time he basically told Lovino to bug off 'cause he was afraid he was going to all insane on his butt. I had NO idea where I was going, but like nearly all the coolness in my plot, I just made it up as I go along. ****I really wanted to show case to Germany just how ****_messed_**** up Italy is. And when he blames a lot of it on Rome, you can't blame him if you know about Rome. The Roman Empire wasn't a nice place; at all.**

**Whatcha ya'll think? I got one comment saying I should make Germany scared; I think I'll do something along those lines, but I have plans. Prepare for feels for our incoming countries. O.O**


	13. Chapter 13

Prussia banked a hard left. To be honest, he was lost. Austria was fiddling around on his back, and he didn't know how much longer he could sustain flight. Actually, he could. He observed that he was on a tailwind, then he assessed him strength. He felt he could carry Austria for about an hour longer if he pushed himself. Those white angles and numbers crashed into his head again. It made everything looked broken and… ordered. The spoils were still forming on his body and they still created disgusting puke grey pus. They stung against the fast air.

_You know what? I'm so sick of thinking. _Prussia thought. He pushed all this thought away, this strange new math gift he had, and just focused on the up-down of his wings. Flight. It was… how can one simply lead with 'it was'? Its freedom, pure and simple. Its never having to rely on the earth for transportation; its magnificent and fast. The ascent, the descent, all depends on your own limbs and the air. You are the only one who can succeed or fail, and you're the only one who can be blamed. Its independence, liberty, and above all, the very definition of potential. The excitement filled the usually depressed Prussia to such a point that he craved to discover just how hard he could fly. He forgot Austria in all of this. Suddenly, he shot up into the air, above the clouds. He could faintly hear Austria's yells over the whistling air. He went higher and higher until he felt a small pop in his ears. The sun was setting, lighting the clouds in the most glorious way. He felt a peace pull his heart, then a stinging on his palms. Looking down, he saw a black cross rise on each palm. As this happened, he remembered his Tectonic Knighthood. Everything was so simple then; it was centered completely on religion. And what that religion said was, to them, their truth and their code. Prussia felt himself mourn for that time, for that time of simplicity before he became a country.

He became aware of Austria pounding him in the head. Turning back, he found that Austria was having noticeable trouble breathing. Without another thought he dove again beneath the clouds to accommodate his passenger's small lungs. His downward arch was a perfect recipe for Austria to go flying off, and that's exactly what happened. Prussia felt his tight squeeze around his chest, than he didn't, as the wind tore Austria away. Flipping on his back, Prussia watched him flail. Panic coursed his veins as he tried to righten himself. Pardon the pun, that's where things went downhill. Prussia couldn't fight past the wind force without tearing his wings off, and they were quickly approaching the ground. Looking down, he found that he was straightened. He had to slow his descent enough for Austria to fly past him… he did the math; if he could time it right, he could save the Austrian. Though it would be the wisest decision just to let him fall and regenerate later, Prussia knew he'd get an earful and then some. Austria could be scary when he wanted too. Prussia had closed his wings tight to his torso, and now he was slowly opening them. The strain was incredible and painful, but he had to slow himself down right now. He also pulled out of his nose dive by turning his chest so that it faced the ground, making a noticeable change. He looked up again; Austria had gone unconscious from lack of oxygen. Common misconception about falling from a great height; you'll suffocate because you're falling to fast to anything in your lungs before you go splat.

Prussia flared his wings, taking the pain and chocking it down as Austria zipped by. Gilbert was still going at a high speed (around 200 to 230 mph) while Roderick was going faster. Going back into his nose dive, Gilbert extended his arms out to the Austrian. His back was facing earth as Gilbert cradled him to his chest, having plucked him from the air. Still falling, the bird man pulled his wings out yet again to slow their descent. It wasn't as bad as before, but it still hurt. When he felt he had slowed enough to allow the movement, he flapped against the rushing air, adding further drag and resistance. What he would do for a set of tail feathers, he did not know (useful things, tail feathers). His feet brushed the tree tops as he started this flapping, and he fell into them. They were still going too fast. Finding a hidden reserve of strength, he grunted as he put more strength and speed into his wings.

He landed on his feet hard, but without breaking anything. He slumped to the ground, relief panting his breath as he panted and wiped a sweat from his forehead. He dropped Austria to do so, and found he still wasn't breathing. Without even thinking, he dragged himself to Austria's side, plugging his nose and exhaling into Roderick's blue parted lips. He proceeded to pound his chest to kick start something; nothing. He did this repetitively until Roderick took a huge breath from Gilbert's lungs, causing both to cough.

"You okay?" Prussia asked, relaxing as it was made clear Austria was fine.

"What. The. Hell! You- you- _kissed_ me!" Austria groused.

"Its called CPR." Said Gilbert with a droll stare. "I would've let you die, but I figured that'd upset you."

"W-well-"

"Ja, ja, tell me later. Your legs healed yet?" Prussia asked, staring at them again.

"Why do you keep doing that?!" Demanded Roderick. Snapping out of it, Prussia met his scrutinizing gaze.

"You don't have many species of birds in your head; you wouldn't understand." He said, jaded.

"W-what?!"

"Quit flustering and answer the question. I am tired and hungry and I need to see if Italy burned down the hut and if Canada is still alive. _Bitte_ (please)_._"

"Uh, very well." Using his arms to prop himself up, Austria managed to stand.

"Yes, they're healed. Can we go now?" Roderick informed.

"Yyyyyeeeeessss…" Gilbert drawled, walking away.

"You look disgusting." Austria pointed out a while later.

"I can't help the fact I these weird boils all over my skin. We're not gonna make it back tonight, so let's find some water and a place to sleep."

"Fine." Muttered Austria. Prussia had fallen into a stupor; he wouldn't speak unless spoken too, nor would he acknowledge you unless you smacked him. As they passed the time, Prussia eventually paused in their trek. Right now, they were in what appeared to be a tropical rain forest; a climate both countries were unfamiliar with. Prussia closed his eye, listening. He summoned the vulture part of himself and found scents filling his nostrils. He took a huge whiff; confirming what he heard. He had heard the faint rumbling of a waterfall, and he could smell the water in their air. He raced toward the sound until it was nearly deafening. Looking down, he found that the water crashed into a basin of sorts, with a semi calm pound not far from the falling water. From where they stood, he was over looking this basin, meaning he was on higher ground. There was a way to get down by land, but when you have wings; please, land's for losers. He glided to said basin, landing on a rock beneath the water, giving him some footing. Some of the pus had dried and became a sticky paste with leaves and flies and dirt stuck to it. Naturally, the Prussian dived into the cold water, tucking his wings tight to his form.

Below the water was a clear, yet darkening, rock-scape. It had pillars and shelves of stone jutting from the earth far below and rising out of that clear liquid called water. Swimming deeper, he eventually found the bottom. The pressure wasn't affecting him as it should; looking down he realized his lungs and ribcage had collapsed to allow this pressure and a better way to hold his breath longer. He rubbed his body on the loose dirt bottom, using it as a sort of scrub brush to get the dirt off. His wings expanded behind him, allowing trapped air to rise and the water to penetrate the feathers. Repurposing them, he swam his way back to the surface, flapping hard, using them like flippers. He breached the surface, taking a huge gulp of air. Austria had been peering at the water frantically, but when he laid eyes on the Prussian, he blushed angrily and yelled.

"Where were you! I thought you had gone and killed yourself!"

"Why would I kill myself?" Prussia asked in a serious tone, stepping up onto the steep, muddy shore. Rivulets of water streamed down his body. He shook his wings, wetting Roderick with the dully shining droplets. He kept them open, seeming to increase his intimidation by showing his true wingspan. It was scary because it was somewhere around fifteen or seventeen feet, and they were powerful. A single stroke of a swans wing can break your arm. Least to say, birds are awesome.

"W-what?" Roderick stuttered. Stupid Gilbert was distracting him with his wings. They were so… alien. Its not every day you see a bird man.

"Why do you think I would kill myself? I really want to know what you think. No one has openly speculated, or perhaps not even at all, that I may not want to live anymore." He said, walking past Austria. Roderick stood there, beyond stunned. He felt like he had just gotten slapped than asked why it hurt.

"Gilbert…" A bad feeling crept over him, like he was about to know something that was never meant to be known. Currently, Gilbert was more interested in finding a perch to rest. He found a nice thick, low branch and hopped onto it, curling his sore toes to keep his balance. He scratched at the boils, watching as Roderick walked to stand beneath him.

"Roderick, please go ahead and tell the class why you think the Prussian Empire failed." He said in a minuscule voice. He had never sounded so lost, so beaten and jaded before. Always he was happy Gilbert, annoying Gilbert… but never had he shown his self to this degree. Was this the true Prussia? This depressed man before him? What _had_ Prussia been like when he was a country, or an Empire?

"I haven't given it though to if you wanted to… not be around anymore." Roderick said, sitting down below Gilbert.

"I figured you wouldn't have." His hands hung loosely by his sides. Austria spotted the black cross, and fear filled him. W-what did that mean exactly?

"I have never told anybody what its like to a personification without a country." He said suddenly.

"As far as I know, I'm the only dissolved country to still be around. When you lose your country, its like losing everything. You lose everything you were created for; in short, your purpose. Every family felt like mine and that I was losing them and I would never get to see them again. And it hurts. It hurts _so_ bad. It's the worst pain, because it reaches all three levels of your being; your mind, body and soul. When they're gone, you're not influenced by the stereotypes anymore; you don't have to be what you were. I wasn't like this. I was far more religious. I was a holy man, a servant of the Lord and my country. But I had stopped caring about that. I wanted to die, or whatever we do when we dissolve, but _Germany_brought me back." He spat, clenching his first.

"I love him, I do, and I'm grateful to a degree, but the pain… it was amazing, truly awesome. But those words are neutral; they don't convey negative or positive emotions. It was negative. I saw what waiting for me, and I still don't know what it was. By all regards, I should be dead and gone, but when Germany remade me… I was sparked again. I am basically a living corpse; what's my reason, my purpose now? I can't look forward to death. I think I'll be the last to die, since I missed my chance at rest. I'll have to watch all my friends die. I feel empty _all _the time… and I cant even make it end. Funny how life works out like that." He mumbled, resting his head against the tree. Stricken, so very confounded, Austria had nothing to say. So this was how Prussia felt… whenever anybody had asked about him being a country (more correctly a empire or state) he had laughed and said he was glad not to have the responsibility of those losers. Austria knew he had seen a spark of pain in his eyes, he knew; but he figured it was nothing, when it was everything.

Little did these three countries know they were all spilling their guts in this one night. Who knew so much could be revealed?

**Another chapter! Hurray for me *does a dance*. You know how I've been saying through Canada or Italy that Prussia was depressed? Yeah, here it is. As far as I know from my limited research, Prussia was never a country, but a state or empire. Here's a couple links that I looked at for information if you didn't believe me. ****_Iron Kingdom_**** by Christopher Clark looks very interesting (that's the first link, btw)**

. ?_r=0

wiki/Prussian_Empire

**P.S: I would like to thank the people who've suggested things! I will defiantly think on it. I have idea's for America and Germany, but what of England, Austria, and Romano? Do tell, i dont even care if it isn't explainable anymore! I. WILL. FIND. A. WAY.**


	14. Chapter 14

America was watching his brother with confusion and fear. He was staring at his arm, his new arm, with fascination. England was trying to talk to him, only earning a hot glare or a mumbled curse. They had been moved from that room to another, since Canada had destroyed the former. A small whirring noise filled the room, an occasional click as he moved his arm. What could he do? What could the hero do to save his brother? He didn't know… and he couldn't react like he wanted. He wanted to bust out of here, sweep everyone off to safety and bomb the crap out of this accursed island. He had tried to cheer up Matthew, but all he got was a slap and a snappy reply.

Canada rested his head against the wall, ignoring England plead to him. He was tired, tired of this world, tired of England's no stop chatter, tired of America's hero act… He could hear them, their thoughts. He could feel the desperation and confusion rolling of England as he tried to get him to reply. He wanted some sort of signal that he was somewhat okay. America wanted the same sign, but he wanted it to be because of him. He wanted to be the one to cheer up the Canadian. But there was something there, something incredibly sad and… inadequate. He looked over at America, locking eyes with him. There, in the very center of his eye, was that misery.

"Why are you depressed?" Matthew asked, still looking at him. America's eyes widened in surprise.

"W-why would you think that?" He stuttered. His heart hamming in his chest. England glanced between them, perplexed. America's not depressed, he's unrealistically happy and an illogical optimist. Why would Canada think that? Also, why would he suddenly speak without throwing out a insult? _I guess it's a brother thing…_ England huffed. He'd admit, that thought stung. Wasn't he a brother to both them at one point? He took care of them… well, Alfred anyhow. Matthew had been parented mostly by France (may the frog die in a pit of his own sheets) after the War of 1812. They stared at each other for a moment longer, violet eyes boring into cerulean ones, than they snapped to Arthur's green gems.

"It's not a brother thing." He spat, turning away. He no longer had the comfort of hiding behind his hair, so he just stared at the ground as he grit his teeth against all the thoughts that bombarded him. It was painful, like being completely full after a big dinner and being told to eat everything of a even bigger dinner. He was drowning in the thoughts. He could sense England's and America's best, because they were closest and he knew them. How well, that was up to debate. He had been around centuries, and he wasn't sure how much he knew of his brother. True they had their countries to look out for, but wouldn't they find time to relax together? America had time, but he wasted it on games and movies, always asking England or Japan to come over to comfort him. But no, he just ignored that gigantic landmass _above_ him. He was either paying too much attention to people _across the pond_, or the people below him trying to get past the fence. Matthew had puzzled over this many a time, and he could feel the injustice of it all boiling up inside him, but he knew he couldn't explode with them around. He could hurt them. And as much as he hated them sometimes, he couldn't bring himself to hurt them. But what would he do when the scientists came to experiment on them for this N.G. thing they're doing? Matthew had overheard a researcher thinking about it. N. G…. what could that stand for?

"Matthew…? Can you read minds…?" Arthur asked hesitantly. He had come across the gift in only two people in his entire existence, and they were countries. Him, to a degree, but it has diminished greatly since time of his spawning, and Wales. But they had only ever been able to get impressions off people, not full blown thoughts. Arthur tried to reach out with his mind and try to sense what Matthew was under. That's when things went bad for them.  
Matthew could feel something prodding him, like a soft pocking in his head. It was a foreign consciousness seeking him out. And it was familiar, and judging from the look of concentration on England's face, it was him. H-how dare he! How dare he try to read him! Matthew launched himself at the intrusive consciousness, pinning it against it's owners skull, and filling his head with his consciousness. He was increasing the pressure, and it caused a physical reaction. Arthur doubled over from his sitting position, clutching his head as blood started to seep out of his ears. Wait. What did Matthew just say about hurting them? He was hurting Arthur. How he was hurting the Brit, it went like this. Arthur had tried to reach out to grasp a invisible tendril of Matthew's thoughts, to sense them, but that had back fired because Matthew was on a mental level to where he could perceive these intrusion. So he had attached, sending his entire being at the one probing strand, chasing it back to England's head. He had filled the Englishmen's head while corners said strand of consciousness, stiffing his victims head with his one. In theory, he could possess said man.

Quickly, he retreated from Arthur's head, who had started to stop breathing as his body was getting signals from a unfamiliar source. Now having the mind it's used to, he started to breathe again. When Matthew returned to his body, he panted right along with the Englishmen, having not been breathing either. America had rushed to Arthur's side, sputtering at what was going on and what brave thing he could do to save the 'damsel' in distress. He had noticed Matthew. Typical. Hadn't he known better, he would have assumed the two were dating.

"Get off-" breath, "-me git. I'm fine." Arthur growled as he looked at the softly panting Matthew. Apology painted his eyes as he was too ashamed to speak. England wasn't quite ready to forgive, but at least he wasn't full out yelling at him.

Alfred wasn't as dumb or as unrealistic as people gave him credit for. He could tell Matthew had done something to Arthur, and he wanted to know what it was. He padded over to Matthew after England had recovered and gotten some water from a gallon jug in the corner. Matthew had wrapped his arms around his legs tightly, burring his face in them. Apprehensive, Alfred laid a hand on his right shoulder. He felt Matthew flinch at the contact, but he still wouldn't look up.

"Mattie?" he asked gently. He felt Matthew give a small shake, like a sob, before he uncurled, looking down with hard, guarded eyes.

"What." He stated with a snap in his voice.

"Oh, Mattie, I am sorry…"America said, sensing the hostility in his voice. Matthew's eyes softened for a moment before looking at his brother. Why wasn't he doing his stupid hero act? _Because he can sense how dangerous you are…_ A voice said. Matthew was pretty sure it was his own mental voice. Before he could think better of it, he whipped his right arm around America's shoulders and engulfed him in a hug, feeling the cracked leather of his sun bleached bomber jacket. He felt a measure of relief fill him as he held onto his brother, no longer a shadow that got baseball's thrown in his face and bits. The trauma of what he had been through finally caught up with him, and he sobbed, eventually in both of their shoulder. Both Arthur's and Alfred's. He was around people who cared about him, and that was a relief in its self. Arthur sat on one side of him, next to his human arm, and Alfred next to his robotic arm. Just the presence of them, the touch of their shoulders, was enough to lull them to sleep.

**Yay! This didn't end sadly! At least, I hope it wasn't perceived as sad. Review, I love reviews! As you know…XD. Also do that thing that starts with a F (follow, favorite, ect.) America's gonna screw this up, btw. He'll anger Canada in some way.**


	15. Chapter 15

he sun was still below the horizon when Prussia woke. Standing, he stretched and hopped off the branch. Austria was nowhere to be seen. He spun around, trying to find said Austrian. He rushed to the basin, to find him swimming in the water. His shirt and pants lay on a rock, cleaner than it was before, and drying from the washing it got in the water. His glasses also lay next to the shirt. So, thus Austria was shirtless. Prussia retreated to a nearby tree, watching in interest. Austria was really pale… but he was a strong swimmer. He dived under the water and swam deep, than launched himself back out of it. Who knew? Prussia never knew he could swim… Hopping down, he crouched on rock overlooking the Austrian. The sun had started to rise, creating a inverse ripple effect of water on the stone. He was lithe through the water, cutting it and splashing it around him. He was wearing boxers; good. NO SKINY DIPPING. There was a rock shelf under Prussia, one leaving the water like a set of step-less stairs. Roderick pulled himself up on this, breathing heavily. Flapping his near silent wings, Prussia landed next to a, needless to say, surprised man. He fell down in the water a little before rising with a angry glare plastered on his face.

"How dare you pop out of nowhere! I was bathing! Were you _watching_ me?!" He sputtered.

"Get over your embarrassment, Austria. All your flailing will scare away the prey." He muttered, sinking down into the water until it was only his nose and eyes above the water.

"Great… he's being creepy again…" Austria whispered.

The boils had spread to his scalp, and when each one popped, a lock of hair would fall out. They were everywhere, and they left a grayish trial in the water as he swam. He had inspected his feet while watching Austria swim, to find the flesh had become really loose. He could almost pull it off. Not quite sure what to make of it, he had let it be.

Austria had followed suit, sinking into the water and hiding in the shadows. Honestly he was curious of how Gilbert was going to get prey from the water. It strikes him as rather hard to do. About a hour and a half later Austria had turned to a prune and his patience had more than wore thin. Just as he was about to slosh out of the water, a creature stuck its head out the surrounding foliage. It lifted its muzzle into the air, taking quick, concentrated whiffs before venturing out, stopping every other step to sniff and to listen. It was a small ocelot, its beautiful speckled hide rippling in the morning light. It sniffed Austria's clothes, than quickly darted off. Prussia growled animalisticly before turning his blistering gaze on Austria.

"Get your damn clothes before I eat _you_." He ordered. The way he was looking at Roderick, he didn't have much doubt that Gilbert wouldn't eat him. Silently swimming to the shore, he grabbed his clothes and hid them in the branches of a low bush by the bank. Another hour and a half before a young boar ventured to the water. Austria suppressed a shiver as Prussia licked his lips, his entire concentration on the boar, body completely rigid, shaking even in excitement. Usually, hogs or boars traveled in packs, but it appears this one had gotten lost. As it placed its nose down to the water and started taking quiet gulps, Prussia sunk below the water with barely a ripple. He slithered like a perfectly bred predator, sinking low and getting right under the boar's field of vision. It happened so fast from there. Just as Prussia reached out, claws unsheathed, he pulled back, biting back a hiss as he crumbled on the shore, curling into the fetal position. The hog skittered away, snorting in distress. Gilbert gripped his feet and arms in pain, driving white spots into his vision. Austria rushed over as fast as he could to watch the event unfold in morbid fascination. Prussia's skin on his forearms, hands, and from his knees down seemed to melt off in a grotesque display of something akin to the melting of a candle. Below were tan-ish plates, even more like those of a bird. That's when his feet started to creaked and snap. He screamed the pain the most brilliant he felt in centuries. His feet were shattering themselves, rearranging and reforming. His hands were doing the same, but they were already similar to the design his new genetic code had in mind. He seethed, groaning and eventually stopped moving; the pain was too great to do anything but sit there, trying not to vomit. His human thoughts seemed to vacate him, leaving him with instinct. When Austria tried to inspect what was going on, getting close, Prussia took a swipe with his claws and growled, pushing himself away. He didn't look like he recognized Austria at all. His legs went next, cracking the tendons and tearing the muscles with some genetic order. He threw up at this, gagging and crying out. He whimpered, crawling as his fingers settled with a final snap. His knees tried to invert, but not so, his remaining human side fought tooth and nail to keep his legs like they were. The heel of his foot rose and the ball of his foot would now take all the weight upon standing. His toes had separated and become like those of a bird, meant exactly for the tearing of prey and the gripping trees. His bones stretched from the strain. He panted as it slowed the popping and the strange slithering noise that came from tendons shifting under the armored skin. Physically exhausted, pain filling every cell of his body, he struggled for consciousness, lying on his side, his legs sprawled out. When he cast a cursory glance, he froze. The author was right; his feet had completely changed. He twitched a toe and found a measure of relief. Wiggling his new feet; he found a back claw where the heel of his foot was. His human thoughts started to filter back in, but still the animal was in control. Pushing himself up, he spread his wings to balance the new height. He was even taller, if that was possible. Steadily, he stepped forward, not even paying attention to Austria, who was as pale as a ghost. He stumbled, and fell to his sore knees. He groaned combining a nasty curse with a disgruntled snarl. He fell onto a rock, inspecting his new hands. Shaking his head, clumps of his hair fell out. Even now, he felt the frantic nervousness in that. Whipping a clawed hand to his head, he felt something strange… all his hair had fallen out, but what remained was slicked back feathers. They were thin, but they were in great numbers. Great, now he had a crest. Austria took this opportunity to try to get him back. Prussia kneaded the rock nervously as part of him fought the urge to do one of two things; A) Tear Austria's face open, or B) fly away. Sparks flew from his scratches, leaving white marks on the grey rock. Prussia used his back legs and crawled on side of the side, clinging on with a grip he would not have been able to do with human feet.

"G-Gilbert?" Stammered Roderick. This creature before Prussia puzzled him. It made weird noises. He didn't know whether he liked those noises or not. He dropped down, chest resting on the rock. It was warning body language, but the creature stepped forward again. Did it not see that Prussia did not want him closer? He growled, glaring ardently at him. Peering into his scarlet eyes, Austria thought he saw a streak of yellow splitting the magma that was his eye.

"Come back, Gilbert, c-come back," Austria said slowly and calmly. Prussia stopped growling for a moment, cocking his head to the side and raising his crest quizzically. He rested his tense muscles. He thought he liked this creature's voice; it was like something to his accented growls. Not knowing what else to do, Austria lifted a hand slowly, treating Prussia like the predator he currently was.

Prussia watched him curiously, seeming to act like a cat versus a bird. As his mind settled, his crest fell back, looking down in slow thought. Then he felt a hand on his head. Jerking said head upward, he saw Roderick tear it away, looking a bit embarrassed. Prussia looked himself uncertainly, resting further into his haunches. He felt less aggressive as he calmed. Austria took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he felt a claw poke him. Jerking his violet eyes to scarlet ones, he found traces of his Gilbert. He sighed heavily as a look of confusion crossed his face before he widened his eyes, wrenching his head to look closely at his legs. He dropped down, standing unsteadily. He ran a hand over his head, feeling the feathers.

"Well… s**t." he muttered, looking at Austria.

"Little master?" Prussia asked shyly, closing the distance to catch the fainting Austrian. He looked up into Prussia's eyes, lost in searching for that glimmer of yellow. Prussia jerked his head up, cocking it left and right as his 'hair' stirred. Austria was _not_ going to get used to that.

"They're near…" He muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Canada… and America?" he whispered, listening closely. They were a ways a away, but even Austria could vaguely hear the American blubbering about. Prussia looked at Austria for a moment before rising into the air. He couldn't take Austria with him; he would slow him down. He shot off, searching. He used his falcon like vision to peer through the foliage, and when that did work, he honed in on their noises, and quickly found them sitting in a clearing next to cave mouth, right next to a support beam for that electrical net. Matthew was sitting on a rock, looking at a… silver arm? Had they attached a new arm to him?! Prussia staggered in his flight for a moment in surprise before he cast a glance over at America, who was yelling something about being hungry and bored. Matthew looked ready to explode. Prussia dived, feet first as he landed with a thud on a branch, wrapping his toes and digging his claws into the bark. America and Canada spun around to see him sitting there, blankly looking at his nails. His wings were pulled in behind him, out of sight.

"Gilbert!" Mattie yelled something akin to a smile on his face. Prussia smirked back, hopping down, showcasing his feet. America cried out,

"What the hell dude?! What's wrong with your feet?!" America barked, hiding behind Canada. Both countries rolled their eyes at him. Prussia gestured to Canada's arm with a claw.

"So, new arm?" He asked, carefully maneuvering his hand to scratch his head with his talons.  
"Yeah; I see your mutations have finally ended. I've been inside this entire time. Apparently they're called Silver Crest, and Call runs it. Oh, I can read minds to." He said trivially. Prussia's crest rose as a smirk flitted across his face. His claws slid in and out as he thought of applying them to Call's face.

"Cool. Fill me in later, I think America is about to have a heart attack." He said. Matthew groaned.

"Please do." He muttered.

"I left behind a half naked Austrian so we should be making our way back to the hut, ja?" Prussia said. America giggled immaturely.

"Did you do Austria?" he sniggered. Prussia turned a slow gaze to America's, holding it there.

"America… have you ever flown?" he asked. America only had enough time to go 'huh' before Prussia blasted towards him, grabbing his shoulders and rising high into the air in mere seconds. Now, America hadn't seen his wings, so imagine his surprise. Prussia threw him up, and as he fell, he fell with him.  
"So, want to ask me that again?" he growled. America shook his head frantically, screaming.  
"Save me! Savemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesame!" He whined. Prussia flittered forward, grabbing his shoulders with a painful grasp, actually breaking skin with his claws, and slowing the descent.

"Well, you seem quite happy."

"I just went through this leg thing this morning after I tried to kill a boar! I guess that relieved some physical stress." Prussia said excitedly as he dropped the American, who was shaking uncontrollably.

"So… please explain the arm. I am quite puzzled by that." Prussia said.

"Well, I'm guessing that I was unconscious for most of the time while they were putting it in place, then the arm attached itself, which was the _worst_ pain I've felt in centuries." Prussia lifted a leg to show he also concurred that he had the worst pain in centuries of late. A rustling in the bracket caught their attention, but they assumed it was Austria. They were kinda right. Austria was being held back, gun pressed to his temple. A guard snarled at them, barking orders.  
"Du bist ein echter Idiot. (You're a genuine idiot.)" Gilbert called, ignoring the nervous guard.

"Nun, ich war irgendwie in der Mitte setzen Hosen auf! (Well, I was kinda in the middle of putting pants on!)" Austria shot back, obviously upset.

"I got this one guys. I haven't eaten today." Prussia snarled in their special language, dropping to his haunches. They backed away as America gagged at the idea of eating raw meat, earning smack in the back of the head.

"I'm not scared of you!" Yelled the man. It was obvious he was.

"I can hear it on you, klugscheißer. The beating of your heart… the blood thrumming in your ears… I can hear it all. Its your own fault to…" Prussia said, loving how creepy he sounded.

"You sure Prussia? I mean, he does have a gun _right there_. I could help…" Matthew said.

"Nah, I'm good. You'll have enough time to show me how cool your arm and head is later. Right now, I am _hungry_." He groaned, falling to all fours. He pulled out his wings as the man started to foolishly fire at him, giving Austria a chance to break free and grab the gun. Prussia pushed off with his strong hind legs and crashed on the man's chest, knocking him to the ground. If Prussia had a tail, it would be swishing around maliciously. Of course, he wasn't going to actually eat him, but it was fun to play mind tricks. He slowly applied pressure with his claws, drawing thin lines and cutting away the man's Kevlar like it was tissue paper. He reached into a pocket, finding a phone.

"Oh, what's this?" he grinned. It was a walkie talkie. He pressed a button, finding only static. He put it in a shredded pocket. "No matter. Now, should I start with the white or the red?" The man started to scream already like he was being eaten, clutching his head. Prussia tilted his cranium to the side, thinking. What was this? He started thrashing, creating a huge disturbance, flushing out a rabbit. Jumping off him in instinct, Prussia soared over the ground and landed right on the rabbit, tearing into, creating quite a mess all over him. He sighed, enjoying that little snack. The man had finished screaming and had fainted. He shrugged, standing back up. Looking down, he had a bunch of blood on his face. Oh, that would be horribly fun to freak America out with. He smeared it on his chest, and stepped out, stretching casually. America had been squealing about how they should go save that man from bird Prussia, ranting at his brother. Austria turned white again as he saw the blood.

"Hast du…(did you…?)" He muttered. Prussia shook his head 'no', holding up a patch of fur.  
"I mean, we could also save Prussia from being a cannibal! I mean, look at him! He's a deformed chicken!" least to say, America wasn't facing Prussia. Gilbert exchanged glances with Matthew before leaning down to whisper in Alfred's ear.  
"I don't think it counts as cannibalism when you're a deformed chicken." America yelped, turning around to see Prussia there, bloodied.

"OH MY GOD MATTIE SAVE ME FROM THE CANNABLE! OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!" He screamed, running back behind Matthew. Austria rolled his eyes and polished his glasses on his moist shirt, which he had not had the delight of putting back on. He threw it at Prussia and told him to wipe the blood off, unable to take his eyes off Matthew's arm.

"Was zum Teufel ist mit deinem Arm? (What the hell is wrong with your arm?!)" Austria said, slipping into German. Matthew shrugged, understanding what he was asking purely because he could get the impression of the question through thought.  
"Well… let me try something." Matthew walked up to both countries, Prussia taller than him, and looked down awkwardly before placing both hands on their head and pushed his thought and emotion into them. Their back went rigid as their eyes glossed over, as the felt the pain and horror of what Canada went through. It was a matter of seconds before they were released, falling away as the shock wrapped around their bodies. They sat there, panting heavily, coming to terms with Canada's arm.

"That thing is a parasite." Austria said, looking at it in a mixture of wonder and disgust. Matthew looked away, his violet eyes hard. _No its not_ he hissed mentally, _its mine_. America had been freaking out, as usual, and had tried to call the _Justice League _by screaming into the sky for Superman.

"I swear he's delirious." Canada muttered, turning back to him.

"Mattie! M-Mattie! I think I can hear Iron Man!" America squealed.

"Does he look worse?" Prussia asked, dazed. It was true, America was pale and sweaty, and there was a wild look in his eyes, like he was ready to cry just as much as he was to scream.

"I think he's freaking out because one, he hasn't had a hamburger in days, and two, he's probably worried about England since they're experimenting on him."

"Oh, okay." They said, unaffected. America was clawing up the side of the cave mouth, trying to get on top. Prussia sighed as he flew up, landing on the outcropping. Matthew walked up behind America inverting panels in his palms and finger pads to a textured surface. He put it on the wall, and found traction. As Austria watched, no one noticed the dis-guarded gun being picked up by its previous owner, who clutched his head as he let bullets loose, them tearing into the countries. He stumbled over to the dead Austrian, taking his arm and dragging him away. If they couldn't control the experiments, they would have to make someone who could.

**A new chapter in which I screwed Prussia up royally! OK, I know it's a little extreme, but when you think about it, it makes sense. (he will go back to humanness somehow) And I am painfully logical (thats why i hate neko's- they're so unrealistic. If your going to be mutated with cat ears and a tail, it wouldnt JUST be a cat tail and ears. Uhg, LOGIC). It fits with the plot and my dire need to mess them up. I guess Prussia wasn't really impressed with Matthew's arm because the bird-ness (and their situation) of him has dumbed down his shock reaction, because in the wild, I don't imagine a animal would treat a foreign arm with anything but curiosity and perhaps fear, but not shock. ****Prussia just don't care.**** And if you're wondering, I will be introducing a Gilbird~ XD, but to be clear he wouldn't have had a Gilbird before. Prussia ****_is_**** kinda the main character, though I do go into a lot of detail with Canada and Italy. It depends on my mood. I first wrote this about Italy, but that draft of ****_A Hidden Haven_**** was crap. I hope I'm getting Austria, America, Germany, Romano and England right. I don't know- I have a hard time writing characters as they are. I have to mess with them somehow. I know I don't update regularly and I suck for that, but this news will make you hate me more. **

**A) I wont be able to update anytime soon because I will be going somewhere with no internet.**

**B) I will probably be ending this to. I have a lot on my plate with another on the way. I have to kick start ****_Spitfire on Sicily_****, I need to finish ****_Refused Entrance_**** and ****_Merlin, King of Dragons and Wyverns_****, and ****_A Hidden Haven_****. I might, MIGHT, make a sequel, but it depends on reviews and follows. **

**C) Oh, and I think the plot is dissolving on this, because I really don't remember what it was to begin with. Maybe its because I've been preoccupied with my book on …. Which, btw, I shall be advertising in a link below, if FF will let me. Its to a YouTube video which my face made to advertise the book. Please, be nice even if you don't check it out~**

**D) ** watch?v=uG49qsGFaTE

**E) PS: There was plot progression! I feel like I've been stuck under a rock with this! YAY! I cant wait to see what you all think will happen to England and Austria! I tell you, you're NOT going to suspect it. (that's a total lie but whatever.) I'm open to suggestions, and I do have a request. IS there a country you all want to see here? France? Spain? Cuba, even? I will write them in and have a blast as Prussia and Italy try to kill/eat them!**

**F) PPS: Prussia now has a problem with not being fed. He will get cranky, find you, and eat you. HEHEHEHE. I really am evil~ Anyhow, review, follow, favorite, and beyond!**


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